untitled manuscript for theangelvampire
Title: untitled manuscript
Recipient: theangelvampire
Pairing: N/Leo
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 5.5k
Summary: So long as there’s a reader, no story will ever truly end. Hakyeon breathes life into the pages, and wholeheartedly believes their love will be perpetual.
Hakyeon can still remember with vivid detail the day that he met Taekwoon.
The owner of one of two bakeries in the entire commune, Hakyeon is one of the thousand occupants of Commune #62015 living in a state of perpetual paranoia. No one goes in, and no one goes out. All Hakyeon knows is his Commune. Anything Outside is ignored as if it does not exist - even if one is well aware the Outside does exist, no one ever talks about what lies beyond the Commune walls. Unless you’re a Traveller, that is.
Only Travelers have the luxury of freedom, moving from commune to commune as they please. It is said that Travelers are rich, are well-educated and well-compensated for their efforts to assist the regime. Travellers are every lower-class citizen's subconscious dream. No matter how beautiful and plentiful the interior of the cage, there is still always more to be seen in the great beyond.
Hakyeon himself is plain. Humble and simple, his days are spent blending into the background attending to his duties. At precisely four each afternoon, he wanders into the town square for Daily Talk, where he holds a short conversation with no less than five others - to enrich the fulfilment of village life, the Party claims. To his knowledge, every other commune undergoes the same daily ritual - but the bubble of Commune #62015 is all he has ever known; is all he will ever know.
At evening, there is a half hour time frame in which no authorities lurk around a small section of the back of his store. No cameras, no figures. Quietly, Hakyeon disposes of his stale, unsellable loaves of bread by dumping them out the back - within the half hour, every loaf has disappeared. See no evil, do no evil. Hakyeon’s quiet gestures are never acknowledged by the villagers, just like he never breathes a word of the occasional chopped wood and various materials he finds littered in his backyard. It’s not illegal to pick up someone else’s rubbish, after all.
It’s not unusual for Hakyeon to notice various people hidden in wait around his bakery. However, something about this time feels a little bit different.
Crouching down, Hakyeon’s ministrations are gentle as he shakes the unconscious figure. “Hey, are you alright?” Rolling the male onto his back, the flash of a golden badge has Hakyeon’s heart instinctively freezing in fright even before his mind recognises that the man is a stranger.
The golden badge, shaped like a bird gleams innocently in the light. It denotes a Traveler.
It's as if an invisible bucket of ice has been dumped upon him. Hakyeon's skin goes ice-cold, palms clammy as he hesitates. Ultimately, his sense of sympathy wins out over his instinctual apprehension as he finally reaches down to sling the figure onto his back, staggering under the weight of the lean body as he stumbles back into his bakery.
A human in need is someone to be assisted regardless of their rank, Hakyeon decides as he carefully settles the limp man down upon his couch. The limbs dangle over the edges, and Hakyeon busies himself with rearranging the cushions to maximise comfort.
Just as he's contemplating removing the shoes of the Traveler, a weak yet soft voice sounds. "What are you doing?"
Oh. He hadn’t expected him to awaken so swiftly. Unable to conjure an adequate, Party-conscious response, Hakyeon settles on the truth.
“You were collapsed outside,” he begins hesitatingly, “I brought you in. You seemed kind of out of it, and I couldn’t leave you outside, so-“ he’s in danger of rambling, unused is he to speaking for so long - indeed, communication outside of Daily Talk is not entirely encouraged.
“I was?” Hakyeon watches for any change in the Traveler’s countenance, but it remains impassively blank save a faint glimmer of surprise. “Thank you.”
“It’s no problem.” It could be a problem for his future, but for now Hakyeon decides to press a warm mug into the Traveler’s hands. “Here - it’s tea.”
The Traveler accepts the proffered mug wordlessly, and the two fall into silence. The heaviness of it as it settles is uncomfortable, rendering Hakyeon fidgety as he watches the stranger sit staring pensively into the cup of tea in his grasp.
Eventually, Hakyeon can stand the silence no longer. “Are you going to arrest me?” he blurts out.
“Do you want me to?” There’s a glimmer of unmistakable amusement in the Traveler’s eyes when he meets Hakyeon’s gaze.
So foreign, so unexpected, so beautiful is the expression, Hakyeon emits an involuntary gasp, staring for a moment too long before flickering his gaze elsewhere, stammering as his mind shakily focuses on formulating a response.
“Can’t say I do, but it’s rare for someone to get what they want.” He can only fervently pray that his gaping was not too noticeable.
“That’s very true.” The quiet assent from the Traveler has Hakyeon’s gaze flicking back up in bemusement. He never imagined a Traveler would have such a mild, frank temperament. Then again, he never thought he’d be hospitable enough to allow a Traveler into his house for any duration of time - much less find a Traveler willing to enter his home.
Once more, an uncomfortable silence settles heavily between them. Shifting, Hakyeon wonders what to do. He knows he has breached some sort of unspoken taboo, but the time for swift arrest has long passed. So here they are, at a stalemate of sorts.
Gently, the Traveler sets down his mug. “I shouldn’t impose. I’m only passing through.” A small twitch of the lips into what Hakyeon thinks is a smile. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “Thanks again, and don’t worry.”
Hakyeon blinks. “Worry about what?”
“I won’t report you.” The Traveler’s wry smile has Hakyeon’s cheeks flaming in embarrassment. He had not realized he had been so transparent. Trailing behind the Traveler as he makes for the back door, to this day he still does not know what possesses him to reach out, grasping the Traveler’s wrist in his fingers.
“Wait,” he can feel his cheeks warming, but he presses on regardless, “what’s your name?”
The Traveler pauses. A strange expression begins to form on his features as he stares silently at Hakyeon, sizing him up. Hakyeon has no idea what he is looking for, or whether he has found it - but eventually, the Traveler emits a small sigh.
“Taekwoon.”
Taekwoon - Hakyeon sounds it out in his mind. It sounds right. He opens his mouth to tell Taekwoon his own name, but Taekwoon makes a shushing motion.
“Don’t tell me your name. It might not be safe.” he cautions.
Hakyeon sucks in a breath, surprised.
”Maybe we’ll meet again.” It’s said softly, with such an unassuming gaze that it would sound to anyone else as idle parting pleasantries. However, as Taekwoon opens the door, Hakyeon feels the quiet implications of a promise wound itself around his heart.
“I look forward to it.” He whispers when Taekwoon has long departed from his home.
-
“Tell me,” Taekwoon says, “have you ever heard of croissants?”
Hakyeon fumbles with the foreign word, tongue coiling uncomfortably as he tries to mimic Taekwoon’s smooth pronunciation. “Croissants?” He repeats, setting down the soiled rag he had been using to swipe at the bench top.
It’s Sunday, which means today is a Half Work Day. He does not know what it is about Sunday which means workers get the luxury of not having to work for the normal duration, but he isn’t complaining. It’s been months since Taekwoon’s last visit and roughly a year since they had first met, but Hakyeon treasures the time they do spend together. Despite the fact that he can count the number of times - and hours - they have spent together on the fingers of one hand, he has found an unlikely companion in Taekwoon and is selfish enough to not want to let go.
“Pastries so buttery that every bite is equally as rich as the next,” Taekwoon describes, “crisp layers which flake off when you bite down, yet light and airy despite its savory nature.”
Hakyeon tries to imagine it. Tries to think of having so much butter he can afford to spin it into one pastry. The saliva which pools in his mouth is quickly swallowed down. “Never heard of it.” He says instead, shrugging. Commune #62015’s staple pastry is the custard bun, has been for centuries. Hakyeon does have some freedom in what he ultimately chooses to bake, but the selection of choices has remained the same for years. He should’ve suspected that other options were available all over the world, but it’s not like he would’ve had a chance to study them. All Hakyeon would ever know is life in the Commune, after all.
Some three months later though, Taekwoon drops by with a wrinkled paper bag from which is wafting the most delectable scent. He cautions Hakyeon not to open it until he’s safely inside his home with the doors and windows shut tight, and when he makes to leave Hakyeon invites him in.
Hakyeon breaks out the coffee hiding in the back of his cupboards, brewing a luxurious pot of it. The stuff had gone out of circulation eons ago, according to the Party - but Taekwoon remarks that the coffee flows freely over in the West, and Hakyeon decides he should be more careful about taking the Party at face value. The bitterness of the coffee is unfamiliar to his tea accustomed tongue, but it feels right with the croissants. Though the coffee scalds his tongue and Taekwoon’s apologetic for the less-than-stellar quality of the croissants, Hakyeon still feels like a king.
-
Taekwoon always comes back.
It’s been months since his last visit, but despite the time which passes Hakyeon never fails to recognise the familiar figure.
“May I help you?”
The quick smile Taekwoon flashes holds coy traces of something mischievous and secretive as he nods to the display of pastries on display. “Just looking. What do you recommend?” He asks, tone even as Hakyeon approaches.
Taekwoon’s badge shines from the lapel of his collar. Impossible to ignore against his dark coat, Hakyeon’s mind registers the way the rest of his customers shy away, drawing back towards the wall even as he hums thoughtfully.
“The scones are particularly fresh, though if you’re after something a bit sweeter, the strawberry tarts are good too.” He says, hand reaching out to indicate his picks. He’s thankful for his clean, friendly public persona which allows him to smile freely at Taekwoon without worrying about any suspicious glances.
When he drops his hand, it brushes against Taekwoon’s. Even the buttery feeling that has been lingering on his skin for days now isn’t enough to prevent Hakyeon from feeling the spark when his fingers tap playfully against Taekwoon’s palm.
Hakyeon has to fight the silly grin which threatens to break out when he feels Taekwoon’s fingers wrap gently around his hand before letting go when he moves away.
“Which one do you prefer?” Taekwoon crouches down slightly to peer into the glass display.
“It’d be a lie to say I didn’t have a fond spot for the tarts.” Hakyeon easily admits. It’s rare for strawberries to be in season, even rarer for the Party to allocate him a ration with which to utilise for his goods. But even the government acknowledge that the masses need some sort of sweet substance in their lives, and Hakyeon’s happy to deliver.
Taekwoon considers this. “I’ll take two.” He eventually decides, “both on plates. I’m assuming the owner of this bakery won’t mind if I sit in the back and wait for him?” The volume of his voice lowers.
“You assume correctly.” Hakyeon agrees. He feels giddy, and even though he knows it’s a foolish thought to entertain, he almost wishes he could close up earlier. But alas, he cannot - the Party is absolute, and he cannot afford to draw attention to himself.
Still though, Hakyeon is impatient as he finishes for the day, flipping the wooden plaque until the neat characters read ‘Closed’ against the door. Expression calm, his quick strides betray his excitement as he navigates through the back of the store and into his home.
A bright smile forms on his face when he notices Taekwoon seated at the table, dozing peacefully with an open journal with rough scratches of ink on the pages. Hakyeon’s smile is gentle as he shakes Taekwoon awake, the soft look reciprocated by Taekwoon when he sleepily blinks himself awake.
He’s not sure what's the instigator. Perhaps it’s the steadily building attraction which had been growing stronger with each visit. Maybe it’s the yearning he feels in the time in-between, when he’s in the middle of routine and he just stops to think Taekwoon would enjoy this.
Or maybe, it’s the plate of croissants sitting innocently on the table, the product of months of botched attempts and pages of scratchy scrawls.
The kiss they share is tender, and Hakyeon thinks that he’s found the utopia the Party claims they've been living in for centuries.
-
Taekwoon finally lets Hakyeon tell him his name. It’s the night they’re going to make love for the first time, not that either of them know it. They’ve been whatever this is for months now, and this is Taekwoon’s fifth visit since their first kiss. He tells Hakyeon he had been across the ocean to Europe, had ventured into the Villages of the other side which mirrored the Communes of Asia. Had found baguettes in a Village which was a neighbor to the one with croissants, and the two had sat and munched them with the olive oil Taekwoon had managed to procure along with them.
“Hakyeon.” Taekwoon tests it out as if trying to decide how it sits best on his tongue, and Hakyeon feels something warm and hot coiling in his insides, shivering from the way Taekwoon’s voice wraps itself around his name.
“Hakyeon,” Taekwoon breathes when Hakyeon ducks his head down, lips trailing the contours of his body and seeking to litter every inch of skin with evidence of his affection, hands trailing everywhere, bodies pressed together at the hips as he rocks against him.
It would be a lie to say that Hakyeon has not spent hours wondering what Taekwoon’s voice would sound like during this time. Sometimes, in the privacy of his bedroom when the feeling gets too much to be chased away with a cold shower, he grips himself and wonders whether he’ll ever feel these ministrations by another hand. Wonders whether the softness in Taekwoon’s tone would give way in the face of the raw, raspy nature of need and desire.
(Wonders what Taekwoon would sound like screaming his name into the abyss of the night, in a universe where they’re the only ones in existence and the Party does not lurk behind every corner.)
If there’s anything he isn’t prepared for, it’s how the mere whisper of his name is enough to send shivers running down his spine, jolting his hips and coaxing a gasp from his lips at Taekwoon’s own response.
“Hakyeon,” Taekwoon finally releases, eyes shut and voice trembling. It’s not the loud, uncensored cry of his fantasies because they’re not fool enough to think that the Party won’t notice a loud shout in the middle of the night, but it’s enough for Hakyeon as he follows soon after.
The craving for more is insatiable, but Hakyeon doesn’t care. Taekwoon certainly isn’t complaining either.
-
“What exactly does your job entail?” The question has been lingering in Hakyeon’s mind for a while, but he has never found the courage within himself to ask the question until now. There’s something about the early hours of the morning, the quiet junction between midnight and dawn that lowers all inhibitors and loosens the mind.
Taekwoon tears his lazy gaze away from Hakyeon’s chest, where his fingers had been tracing nonsensical patterns. “Hm?” He sounds distracted, and Hakyeon has to fight against the haze which threatens to consume all rational thought.
“Your job,” he repeats, swatting Taekwoon’s hands away. Now that he’s asked, the curiosity is overwhelming. “What do you do?”
Finally, Taekwoon stops. Hands stilling at Hakyeon’s hips, he frowns. Carefully, he begins. “The Party,” he eventually starts, “wants me to examine the various communities and evaluate the effectiveness of progress in each. Travelers are tasked with ensuring that every community is united despite being completely separate from each other. If there’re any complications, we’re to report them immediately and collaborate with whoever is in charge.”
It goes unspoken that there have been many complications in their lives ever since they first met.
Instead, Hakyeon focuses on the strangeness of Taekwoon’s wording. “The Party wants you to?”
Taekwoon nods. “Yes, that’s my official role, but…” he hesitates minutely, and despite the short pause Hakyeon feels like he’s about to be let in on a massive secret that could potentially change his life forever. “I’m writing a book. I’m collecting information from each community, and writing about them all.”
Hakyeon’s intake of breath is sharp.
A collation of information. A wealth of knowledge from which anyone would be able to piece together what they don’t have. If there’s one thing that any fool should know, it’s that no one is to know anything but what goes on in their own personal space. Even the croissants and baguettes and various other pastries Taekwoon had smuggled for him would pale drastically in the face of written documentation, of concrete evidence of the unknown, of the Outside which Hakyeon is not allowed to be privy to.
Shakily, Hakyeon pulls away.
-
He doesn’t stay away for long. Rather, Hakyeon murmurs that he needs to think, and though his heart aches at the way Taekwoon’s expression closes, he’s thankful that Taekwoon had allowed Hakyeon to slip from the sheets anyway, pacing a hole into his floor as he quietly comes to a decision.
Hakyeon can’t help it. He’s a thinker by nature. True, he puts up a façade of blissful ignorance around everyone else, but his mind is constantly whirring and shifting, accommodating new information and coming to rapid conclusions. Taekwoon has dumped a bomb on him, and it’s up to him to decide how to handle it - whether to explode it, whether to pass it on to someone else, whether to leave it to someone else to defuse…
(Then again, the option of reporting Taekwoon to the authorities is unconsciously crossed off long before it even begins to form in Hakyeon’s mind. If there’s one thing he is, it’s loyal to those he cares about, and Taekwoon’s at that number one spot in his heart.)
When he comes out of his stupor hours later, Hakyeon is surprised to find that Taekwoon hasn’t left. He’s seated in the same position on the bed, frozen in place. Were it not for the shifted sheets and the still-warm cup of tea sitting on the table, Hakyeon would’ve thought he had frozen as soon as Hakyeon left his embrace.
The guilt he feels at the thought feels sour.
Taekwoon silently gestures to the cup. It’s made by his expert hands which now know Hakyeon’s home as well as his own. Hakyeon’s smile is thankful as he reaches out.
He doesn’t grab the cup, but rather clasps Taekwoon’s hands instead.
It’s kind of terrifying, this sensation called love. In a world where community spirit is essential for survival and propagated by the Party, Hakyeon is not ignorant of the properties of camaraderie, friendship and friendliness. However, the intimacy of love is different.
Hakyeon’s submerged in this strange feeling composed not only of verbal banter, but also of the unspoken word. The heavy implications of silence, the tenderness of fingertips tracing his skin and the spark of euphoria when their lips meet and the years of knowledge that pass through a single second of eye-contact.
Some part of Hakyeon’s mind fears that this will not last forever. Relationships are unreliable. In a world where all deep, personal connections are frayed by the pressure of the Party, it is very possible that what Taekwoon and Hakyeon have won’t last forever.
One day, he may wake up and Taekwoon will have left. Or perhaps he himself would go first. They may not even leave of their own accord - now that the heavy weight of Taekwoon’s book is sitting on both of their shoulders, there’s a very real possibility that the Party will swoop in. It’s impossible to ignore reality, no matter how fanciful the fairytale.
However, for now Hakyeon has made his decision. He may be a thinker, but that doesn’t mean he can’t live in the moment.
As he smiles and leans in, he whispers gently his resolution. “I’m not going anywhere.”
-
“Happy one year anniversary!” Hakyeon smiles brightly, tone light but volume soft as Taekwoon closes the door behind him, shrugging off his coat as he does. He’s not sure what to make of the pleased yet surprised expression on Taekwoon’s face as he stands there in shock, but decides his hard work has paid off when their greeting kiss runs a little longer than usual.
“I didn’t know that this community celebrates romance.” Taekwoon murmurs when they pull away.
An abashed Hakyeon rubs the back of his head. “We don’t,” he admits, cheeks flushing but smile wide, “but I remembered you told me about the tradition in another town, and I thought that it’d be a nice surprise… I forgot what you told me they usually do though, so I sort of... improvised?” He knows he’s rambling, but he’s kind of nervous and Taekwoon has fallen silent in thought and he needs to fill the silence because he’s starting to get a sinking feeling that maybe he’s gone a bit overboard. “I baked a cake! Which I’ve been practicing ever since you told me they made strawberry cakes but couldn’t bring them back because they’d go off, and I also made dinner… and well, the sheets have been cleaned too…” he’s about to continue, but is stopped by Taekwoon’s fingers clamping his lips shut.
“You worry too much.” Taekwoon tells him simply, shaking his head in exasperation. Hakyeon isn’t fooled though - there’s undeniable pleasure in Taekwoon’s smile as he takes in the scene, and his eyes are doing that crinkly thing which he’s always so self-conscious about but shows that he’s well and truly happy. Hakyeon’s always glad when he manages to procure such a rare expression of unfiltered joy from Taekwoon.
Hakyeon is very proud of himself.
“I did however, decide that candles would be a fire hazard in my home.” Hakyeon admits as he leads them to the table atop which a bouquet of wildflowers sit in a clean pot.
Taekwoon smiles, shaking his head. “It’s okay, I don’t mind.” Then, reaching over to his coat which he had slung onto the back of a chair, he rummages in a pocket before pulling out something wrapped in unassumingly plain brown paper. “Whilst we’re on the topic of anniversary gifts-“
“Oh? Is that for me?” Hakyeon interrupts in excitement, bounding over and leaning over Taekwoon’s shoulder to take a look, resisting the urge to grab it from his grasp.
“Yes,” Taekwoon laughs as he hands it over to Hakyeon’s impatient hands. “But don’t open it now.” He says, “wait until I leave.”
Hakyeon isn’t listening. “Author, Jung Taekwoo-“ he reads, before the text disappears from his eyes. “Hey, I was reading that!”
“Did you listen to a word I said?” Taekwoon’s expression is mildly exasperated. “I said to open it when I leave.”
“Well….” Hakyeon eyes the torn wrapping in his hands. “Too late for that now.”
Taekwoon nods, humming in agreement. “In which case, I’ll give it back when it’s time for me to leave.” He says, turning back to the table. “First, let’s eat.”
Hakyeon wants to argue, wants to question why Taekwoon is so adamant on him looking at it only once he has left… but there’s a flush in Taekwoon’s cheeks that he’s sure isn’t a result of the warm temperature in Hakyeon’s home, and so he sets about cooing over how cute Taekwoon is instead. Part of him wonders why Taekwoon's so embarrassed.
-
Hakyeon was wrong. He had assumed that Taekwoon had been writing a dry, informative piece because it seemed more to his logical style, but he was wrong.
Stupefied, Hakyeon stares at the stack of pages in his shaky grasp. It’s untitled, the front page blank save for the neat print of Taekwoon’s name, but the weight of pages promise a wealth of information that’s sure to follow.
Hakyeon’s hands had been shaky as he turned that first page, but rapidly all apprehension had faded as he had become steadily engrossed in the story.
Taekwoon's writing a fictional romance, set in a world which mirrored their own so closely it's remarkable. Even more remarkable is the protagonist of the novel, a character named Leo with hunched shoulders and sore feet from days of travel, who's compelled to keep going and keep drifting until one day he finds his home in N, an unassuming but bright citizen in one of the many communities he visits.
Somehow, Taekwoon had taken the seemingly normal lives of two men and spun the story into one that gave the reader no illusions of the true nature of the piece. He had hidden a wealth of knowledge amongst the airy nonsensical nature of the romance genre, banking on the lack of credibility given to the genre and the indulgent nature of the readership in order to draw attention to what truly matters.
Hakyeon thinks that Taekwoon is a genius. As he settles in bed, despite his fatigue he picks up the bundle of pages. The rain is too noisy, he tells himself. It will be impossible to sleep until the rain ceases, he reasons, but the excuses sound hollow. Truth be told, Hakyeon is simply excited to read on. So, he picks up where he left off.
“Will you marry me?”
N stops mid-tirade, eyes wide as his mouth as he gazes in surprise at Leo. The sloppiness of the proposal serves as a contradiction to Leo’s gathered persona, but where meticulous planning is absent, sincerity is abundant.
The Brotherhood’s stance on marriage is such that duty comes above all else. Marriage is not for the sake of the formation of emotional ties, but rather serve as the preservation of normalcy and routine. Marriage is as expected as childbirth and house-buying and grocery-shopping and being friendly to one’s neighbors. Marriage between two men, whilst unlikely is not so uncommon that the two would not be able to live their lives in comfort so long as their true motivations did not appear outside of private walls.
With that, it does not take N long to formulate a response. Opening his mouth, he-
Hakyeon turns the page, and stops. There’s nothing.
Frowning slightly, Hakyeon feels discomfited as he wonders what to do next. He wants the answer, wants to know N’s answer so he can see how the rest of the story to play out. Hakyeon wants N to accept, wants N to realize that risks are worth taking if it means change can be brought about.
Hakyeon wants to say yes.
Suddenly, it clicks. Hakyeon feels stupid for not realizing it sooner, but there had been enough changes that those initial suspicions had been brushed away with ease as he had found himself more and more engrossed in the story. Some of the events which had happened within Taekwoon’s story had not occurred in real life, and some were similar but only served as analogies for the most private of moments they had shared. But Hakyeon remembers Taekwoon’s secretive smile and strange murmur of “I’ll be waiting.” when he had finally passed the package back into Hakyeon's waiting hands, ducking out the door after a kiss which had spoken of things Hakyeon had been unable to comprehend at the time.
Yes. No. Two words, one choice. Hakyeon’s mind is on overdrive, mapping out routes and scrutinizing all possibilities. Before Taekwoon, there wasn’t a single person in his life he could honestly say he would risk everything for. Sure he indulged in the community spirit the Party so staunchly advocated, but there had been distance in his friendships and each moment of so-called happiness had been tinged with a hint of detached duty.
Before Taekwoon, Hakyeon did not have anyone he would lay down everything for. The question is, does he want to do this?
Yes. Of course.
Hakyeon’s heart quickens. It feels like it’s about to soar out from his chest. Fingers drumming impatiently on the table, the rainfall is no longer an unpleasant disturbance. Now, it’s soothing, a calming balm for his excited heart. Already, he’s anticipating Taekwoon’s next return.
When will it be? Weeks? Months?
It is of no consequence - Hakyeon’s willing to wait for as long as it takes, because after he gives Taekwoon his reply they’ll have eternity side by side.
-
Taekwoon never returns.
It takes Hakyeon a decade to realize - they don’t publicise criminals. Taekwoon had once told him of another place, somewhere on the other side of the world where every day, a list of criminals and executions were announced like change in the weather. At the time, Hakyeon had been horrified. How could life be lived in constant fear that your name, your partner’s name would be next on the list?
But right now, Hakyeon wants a list.
No evidence means no confirmation. No confirmation means the possibility of survival - and of death. Hakyeon knows that if Taekwoon has indeed been captured, then there’s nothing left but death. The Party doesn’t take traitors lightly.
The need to know eats at him every day, twists itself into uncomfortable chains around his heart late at night when the duty of the Party slips away from the Commune Baker and simply reveals Cha Hakyeon lying brittle beneath the surface.
It’s been a decade. He knows that to give up hope is to give up on Taekwoon, but he is not unrealistic enough to let himself wait forever. Taekwoon would not allow him to remain stagnated in time for so long, kept waiting for something which may or may not arrive.
Hakyeon’s a thinker, and he’s got all the options mapped out. He doesn’t have to continue waiting forever, but neither will he give up without a fight.
So, he picks up the manuscript. The pages have gone soft from countless creases, but the words are still readable. Hakyeon rummages in a drawer, and hours later rubs his hands raw pink as he attempts to remove black ink from his skin.
Hakyeon breathes life into the pages, because the story hasn’t ended yet.
-
Smile wide and bright as the sun, Hakyeon warmly shakes the hand of his conversational partner, thanking them for taking time out from their day to chat to him. (He said the same thing to someone else two days ago, he’s sure.) Swiftly, he presses worn pages into waiting hands before walking off with the shoemaker who lives a few blocks over, chatting absentmindedly about the custard buns he’ll make in upcoming weeks.
It may take days, it may take weeks, but Hakyeon knows that eventually those pages will be turned and the recipient will soak in the knowledge, will indulge in the wealth that is to be gleaned from those pages. Eventually, the book will pass on to another person. Then, another.
Sometimes, Hakyeon catches whispers of how the Book has been passed to a Traveler, but not confiscated. No, the Traveler had carefully and meticulously copied the pages before handing the book back. There’re talks of the Book finding its way to the Villages of Europe. Hakyeon wonders if his custard buns will sound as delectable to them as their croissants did to him.
N and Leo are not typical heroes of any sort, but where other characters are over-the-top fantasies of unrealistic perfection, the construct of their lives are written in such a way that they feel incredibly relatable. Lifelike, even. Though the readers are upset that their ending is not one that brings closure and satisfaction, the need to pass on the story means that the characters will remain living vivaciously through the hearts and minds of others.
Hakyeon thinks that his story - their story - hasn’t ended quite yet. It never will, not really. So long as he remembers, and so long as others do, too… well, for him that’s more than enough.
-
In memory of Leo,
Fierce as a lion,
Gentle as fur,
Our story isn’t complete without two halves of a whole.
Notes:
- First off, to the lovely mods: thank you for running this exchange once more, it was a pleasure to take part!
- To the recipient: you gave me three prompts I could not choose from… so, I may or may not have tried combining them all. Hope it at least scratches the surface of your expectations!
- Whew, this isn’t exactly my /best/ work, but I feel like it stands its ground ;; Thanks for reading, and comments would be lovely <3
Recipient: theangelvampire
Pairing: N/Leo
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 5.5k
Summary: So long as there’s a reader, no story will ever truly end. Hakyeon breathes life into the pages, and wholeheartedly believes their love will be perpetual.
Hakyeon can still remember with vivid detail the day that he met Taekwoon.
The owner of one of two bakeries in the entire commune, Hakyeon is one of the thousand occupants of Commune #62015 living in a state of perpetual paranoia. No one goes in, and no one goes out. All Hakyeon knows is his Commune. Anything Outside is ignored as if it does not exist - even if one is well aware the Outside does exist, no one ever talks about what lies beyond the Commune walls. Unless you’re a Traveller, that is.
Only Travelers have the luxury of freedom, moving from commune to commune as they please. It is said that Travelers are rich, are well-educated and well-compensated for their efforts to assist the regime. Travellers are every lower-class citizen's subconscious dream. No matter how beautiful and plentiful the interior of the cage, there is still always more to be seen in the great beyond.
Hakyeon himself is plain. Humble and simple, his days are spent blending into the background attending to his duties. At precisely four each afternoon, he wanders into the town square for Daily Talk, where he holds a short conversation with no less than five others - to enrich the fulfilment of village life, the Party claims. To his knowledge, every other commune undergoes the same daily ritual - but the bubble of Commune #62015 is all he has ever known; is all he will ever know.
At evening, there is a half hour time frame in which no authorities lurk around a small section of the back of his store. No cameras, no figures. Quietly, Hakyeon disposes of his stale, unsellable loaves of bread by dumping them out the back - within the half hour, every loaf has disappeared. See no evil, do no evil. Hakyeon’s quiet gestures are never acknowledged by the villagers, just like he never breathes a word of the occasional chopped wood and various materials he finds littered in his backyard. It’s not illegal to pick up someone else’s rubbish, after all.
It’s not unusual for Hakyeon to notice various people hidden in wait around his bakery. However, something about this time feels a little bit different.
Crouching down, Hakyeon’s ministrations are gentle as he shakes the unconscious figure. “Hey, are you alright?” Rolling the male onto his back, the flash of a golden badge has Hakyeon’s heart instinctively freezing in fright even before his mind recognises that the man is a stranger.
The golden badge, shaped like a bird gleams innocently in the light. It denotes a Traveler.
It's as if an invisible bucket of ice has been dumped upon him. Hakyeon's skin goes ice-cold, palms clammy as he hesitates. Ultimately, his sense of sympathy wins out over his instinctual apprehension as he finally reaches down to sling the figure onto his back, staggering under the weight of the lean body as he stumbles back into his bakery.
A human in need is someone to be assisted regardless of their rank, Hakyeon decides as he carefully settles the limp man down upon his couch. The limbs dangle over the edges, and Hakyeon busies himself with rearranging the cushions to maximise comfort.
Just as he's contemplating removing the shoes of the Traveler, a weak yet soft voice sounds. "What are you doing?"
Oh. He hadn’t expected him to awaken so swiftly. Unable to conjure an adequate, Party-conscious response, Hakyeon settles on the truth.
“You were collapsed outside,” he begins hesitatingly, “I brought you in. You seemed kind of out of it, and I couldn’t leave you outside, so-“ he’s in danger of rambling, unused is he to speaking for so long - indeed, communication outside of Daily Talk is not entirely encouraged.
“I was?” Hakyeon watches for any change in the Traveler’s countenance, but it remains impassively blank save a faint glimmer of surprise. “Thank you.”
“It’s no problem.” It could be a problem for his future, but for now Hakyeon decides to press a warm mug into the Traveler’s hands. “Here - it’s tea.”
The Traveler accepts the proffered mug wordlessly, and the two fall into silence. The heaviness of it as it settles is uncomfortable, rendering Hakyeon fidgety as he watches the stranger sit staring pensively into the cup of tea in his grasp.
Eventually, Hakyeon can stand the silence no longer. “Are you going to arrest me?” he blurts out.
“Do you want me to?” There’s a glimmer of unmistakable amusement in the Traveler’s eyes when he meets Hakyeon’s gaze.
So foreign, so unexpected, so beautiful is the expression, Hakyeon emits an involuntary gasp, staring for a moment too long before flickering his gaze elsewhere, stammering as his mind shakily focuses on formulating a response.
“Can’t say I do, but it’s rare for someone to get what they want.” He can only fervently pray that his gaping was not too noticeable.
“That’s very true.” The quiet assent from the Traveler has Hakyeon’s gaze flicking back up in bemusement. He never imagined a Traveler would have such a mild, frank temperament. Then again, he never thought he’d be hospitable enough to allow a Traveler into his house for any duration of time - much less find a Traveler willing to enter his home.
Once more, an uncomfortable silence settles heavily between them. Shifting, Hakyeon wonders what to do. He knows he has breached some sort of unspoken taboo, but the time for swift arrest has long passed. So here they are, at a stalemate of sorts.
Gently, the Traveler sets down his mug. “I shouldn’t impose. I’m only passing through.” A small twitch of the lips into what Hakyeon thinks is a smile. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “Thanks again, and don’t worry.”
Hakyeon blinks. “Worry about what?”
“I won’t report you.” The Traveler’s wry smile has Hakyeon’s cheeks flaming in embarrassment. He had not realized he had been so transparent. Trailing behind the Traveler as he makes for the back door, to this day he still does not know what possesses him to reach out, grasping the Traveler’s wrist in his fingers.
“Wait,” he can feel his cheeks warming, but he presses on regardless, “what’s your name?”
The Traveler pauses. A strange expression begins to form on his features as he stares silently at Hakyeon, sizing him up. Hakyeon has no idea what he is looking for, or whether he has found it - but eventually, the Traveler emits a small sigh.
“Taekwoon.”
Taekwoon - Hakyeon sounds it out in his mind. It sounds right. He opens his mouth to tell Taekwoon his own name, but Taekwoon makes a shushing motion.
“Don’t tell me your name. It might not be safe.” he cautions.
Hakyeon sucks in a breath, surprised.
”Maybe we’ll meet again.” It’s said softly, with such an unassuming gaze that it would sound to anyone else as idle parting pleasantries. However, as Taekwoon opens the door, Hakyeon feels the quiet implications of a promise wound itself around his heart.
“I look forward to it.” He whispers when Taekwoon has long departed from his home.
-
“Tell me,” Taekwoon says, “have you ever heard of croissants?”
Hakyeon fumbles with the foreign word, tongue coiling uncomfortably as he tries to mimic Taekwoon’s smooth pronunciation. “Croissants?” He repeats, setting down the soiled rag he had been using to swipe at the bench top.
It’s Sunday, which means today is a Half Work Day. He does not know what it is about Sunday which means workers get the luxury of not having to work for the normal duration, but he isn’t complaining. It’s been months since Taekwoon’s last visit and roughly a year since they had first met, but Hakyeon treasures the time they do spend together. Despite the fact that he can count the number of times - and hours - they have spent together on the fingers of one hand, he has found an unlikely companion in Taekwoon and is selfish enough to not want to let go.
“Pastries so buttery that every bite is equally as rich as the next,” Taekwoon describes, “crisp layers which flake off when you bite down, yet light and airy despite its savory nature.”
Hakyeon tries to imagine it. Tries to think of having so much butter he can afford to spin it into one pastry. The saliva which pools in his mouth is quickly swallowed down. “Never heard of it.” He says instead, shrugging. Commune #62015’s staple pastry is the custard bun, has been for centuries. Hakyeon does have some freedom in what he ultimately chooses to bake, but the selection of choices has remained the same for years. He should’ve suspected that other options were available all over the world, but it’s not like he would’ve had a chance to study them. All Hakyeon would ever know is life in the Commune, after all.
Some three months later though, Taekwoon drops by with a wrinkled paper bag from which is wafting the most delectable scent. He cautions Hakyeon not to open it until he’s safely inside his home with the doors and windows shut tight, and when he makes to leave Hakyeon invites him in.
Hakyeon breaks out the coffee hiding in the back of his cupboards, brewing a luxurious pot of it. The stuff had gone out of circulation eons ago, according to the Party - but Taekwoon remarks that the coffee flows freely over in the West, and Hakyeon decides he should be more careful about taking the Party at face value. The bitterness of the coffee is unfamiliar to his tea accustomed tongue, but it feels right with the croissants. Though the coffee scalds his tongue and Taekwoon’s apologetic for the less-than-stellar quality of the croissants, Hakyeon still feels like a king.
-
Taekwoon always comes back.
It’s been months since his last visit, but despite the time which passes Hakyeon never fails to recognise the familiar figure.
“May I help you?”
The quick smile Taekwoon flashes holds coy traces of something mischievous and secretive as he nods to the display of pastries on display. “Just looking. What do you recommend?” He asks, tone even as Hakyeon approaches.
Taekwoon’s badge shines from the lapel of his collar. Impossible to ignore against his dark coat, Hakyeon’s mind registers the way the rest of his customers shy away, drawing back towards the wall even as he hums thoughtfully.
“The scones are particularly fresh, though if you’re after something a bit sweeter, the strawberry tarts are good too.” He says, hand reaching out to indicate his picks. He’s thankful for his clean, friendly public persona which allows him to smile freely at Taekwoon without worrying about any suspicious glances.
When he drops his hand, it brushes against Taekwoon’s. Even the buttery feeling that has been lingering on his skin for days now isn’t enough to prevent Hakyeon from feeling the spark when his fingers tap playfully against Taekwoon’s palm.
Hakyeon has to fight the silly grin which threatens to break out when he feels Taekwoon’s fingers wrap gently around his hand before letting go when he moves away.
“Which one do you prefer?” Taekwoon crouches down slightly to peer into the glass display.
“It’d be a lie to say I didn’t have a fond spot for the tarts.” Hakyeon easily admits. It’s rare for strawberries to be in season, even rarer for the Party to allocate him a ration with which to utilise for his goods. But even the government acknowledge that the masses need some sort of sweet substance in their lives, and Hakyeon’s happy to deliver.
Taekwoon considers this. “I’ll take two.” He eventually decides, “both on plates. I’m assuming the owner of this bakery won’t mind if I sit in the back and wait for him?” The volume of his voice lowers.
“You assume correctly.” Hakyeon agrees. He feels giddy, and even though he knows it’s a foolish thought to entertain, he almost wishes he could close up earlier. But alas, he cannot - the Party is absolute, and he cannot afford to draw attention to himself.
Still though, Hakyeon is impatient as he finishes for the day, flipping the wooden plaque until the neat characters read ‘Closed’ against the door. Expression calm, his quick strides betray his excitement as he navigates through the back of the store and into his home.
A bright smile forms on his face when he notices Taekwoon seated at the table, dozing peacefully with an open journal with rough scratches of ink on the pages. Hakyeon’s smile is gentle as he shakes Taekwoon awake, the soft look reciprocated by Taekwoon when he sleepily blinks himself awake.
He’s not sure what's the instigator. Perhaps it’s the steadily building attraction which had been growing stronger with each visit. Maybe it’s the yearning he feels in the time in-between, when he’s in the middle of routine and he just stops to think Taekwoon would enjoy this.
Or maybe, it’s the plate of croissants sitting innocently on the table, the product of months of botched attempts and pages of scratchy scrawls.
The kiss they share is tender, and Hakyeon thinks that he’s found the utopia the Party claims they've been living in for centuries.
-
Taekwoon finally lets Hakyeon tell him his name. It’s the night they’re going to make love for the first time, not that either of them know it. They’ve been whatever this is for months now, and this is Taekwoon’s fifth visit since their first kiss. He tells Hakyeon he had been across the ocean to Europe, had ventured into the Villages of the other side which mirrored the Communes of Asia. Had found baguettes in a Village which was a neighbor to the one with croissants, and the two had sat and munched them with the olive oil Taekwoon had managed to procure along with them.
“Hakyeon.” Taekwoon tests it out as if trying to decide how it sits best on his tongue, and Hakyeon feels something warm and hot coiling in his insides, shivering from the way Taekwoon’s voice wraps itself around his name.
“Hakyeon,” Taekwoon breathes when Hakyeon ducks his head down, lips trailing the contours of his body and seeking to litter every inch of skin with evidence of his affection, hands trailing everywhere, bodies pressed together at the hips as he rocks against him.
It would be a lie to say that Hakyeon has not spent hours wondering what Taekwoon’s voice would sound like during this time. Sometimes, in the privacy of his bedroom when the feeling gets too much to be chased away with a cold shower, he grips himself and wonders whether he’ll ever feel these ministrations by another hand. Wonders whether the softness in Taekwoon’s tone would give way in the face of the raw, raspy nature of need and desire.
(Wonders what Taekwoon would sound like screaming his name into the abyss of the night, in a universe where they’re the only ones in existence and the Party does not lurk behind every corner.)
If there’s anything he isn’t prepared for, it’s how the mere whisper of his name is enough to send shivers running down his spine, jolting his hips and coaxing a gasp from his lips at Taekwoon’s own response.
“Hakyeon,” Taekwoon finally releases, eyes shut and voice trembling. It’s not the loud, uncensored cry of his fantasies because they’re not fool enough to think that the Party won’t notice a loud shout in the middle of the night, but it’s enough for Hakyeon as he follows soon after.
The craving for more is insatiable, but Hakyeon doesn’t care. Taekwoon certainly isn’t complaining either.
-
“What exactly does your job entail?” The question has been lingering in Hakyeon’s mind for a while, but he has never found the courage within himself to ask the question until now. There’s something about the early hours of the morning, the quiet junction between midnight and dawn that lowers all inhibitors and loosens the mind.
Taekwoon tears his lazy gaze away from Hakyeon’s chest, where his fingers had been tracing nonsensical patterns. “Hm?” He sounds distracted, and Hakyeon has to fight against the haze which threatens to consume all rational thought.
“Your job,” he repeats, swatting Taekwoon’s hands away. Now that he’s asked, the curiosity is overwhelming. “What do you do?”
Finally, Taekwoon stops. Hands stilling at Hakyeon’s hips, he frowns. Carefully, he begins. “The Party,” he eventually starts, “wants me to examine the various communities and evaluate the effectiveness of progress in each. Travelers are tasked with ensuring that every community is united despite being completely separate from each other. If there’re any complications, we’re to report them immediately and collaborate with whoever is in charge.”
It goes unspoken that there have been many complications in their lives ever since they first met.
Instead, Hakyeon focuses on the strangeness of Taekwoon’s wording. “The Party wants you to?”
Taekwoon nods. “Yes, that’s my official role, but…” he hesitates minutely, and despite the short pause Hakyeon feels like he’s about to be let in on a massive secret that could potentially change his life forever. “I’m writing a book. I’m collecting information from each community, and writing about them all.”
Hakyeon’s intake of breath is sharp.
A collation of information. A wealth of knowledge from which anyone would be able to piece together what they don’t have. If there’s one thing that any fool should know, it’s that no one is to know anything but what goes on in their own personal space. Even the croissants and baguettes and various other pastries Taekwoon had smuggled for him would pale drastically in the face of written documentation, of concrete evidence of the unknown, of the Outside which Hakyeon is not allowed to be privy to.
Shakily, Hakyeon pulls away.
-
He doesn’t stay away for long. Rather, Hakyeon murmurs that he needs to think, and though his heart aches at the way Taekwoon’s expression closes, he’s thankful that Taekwoon had allowed Hakyeon to slip from the sheets anyway, pacing a hole into his floor as he quietly comes to a decision.
Hakyeon can’t help it. He’s a thinker by nature. True, he puts up a façade of blissful ignorance around everyone else, but his mind is constantly whirring and shifting, accommodating new information and coming to rapid conclusions. Taekwoon has dumped a bomb on him, and it’s up to him to decide how to handle it - whether to explode it, whether to pass it on to someone else, whether to leave it to someone else to defuse…
(Then again, the option of reporting Taekwoon to the authorities is unconsciously crossed off long before it even begins to form in Hakyeon’s mind. If there’s one thing he is, it’s loyal to those he cares about, and Taekwoon’s at that number one spot in his heart.)
When he comes out of his stupor hours later, Hakyeon is surprised to find that Taekwoon hasn’t left. He’s seated in the same position on the bed, frozen in place. Were it not for the shifted sheets and the still-warm cup of tea sitting on the table, Hakyeon would’ve thought he had frozen as soon as Hakyeon left his embrace.
The guilt he feels at the thought feels sour.
Taekwoon silently gestures to the cup. It’s made by his expert hands which now know Hakyeon’s home as well as his own. Hakyeon’s smile is thankful as he reaches out.
He doesn’t grab the cup, but rather clasps Taekwoon’s hands instead.
It’s kind of terrifying, this sensation called love. In a world where community spirit is essential for survival and propagated by the Party, Hakyeon is not ignorant of the properties of camaraderie, friendship and friendliness. However, the intimacy of love is different.
Hakyeon’s submerged in this strange feeling composed not only of verbal banter, but also of the unspoken word. The heavy implications of silence, the tenderness of fingertips tracing his skin and the spark of euphoria when their lips meet and the years of knowledge that pass through a single second of eye-contact.
Some part of Hakyeon’s mind fears that this will not last forever. Relationships are unreliable. In a world where all deep, personal connections are frayed by the pressure of the Party, it is very possible that what Taekwoon and Hakyeon have won’t last forever.
One day, he may wake up and Taekwoon will have left. Or perhaps he himself would go first. They may not even leave of their own accord - now that the heavy weight of Taekwoon’s book is sitting on both of their shoulders, there’s a very real possibility that the Party will swoop in. It’s impossible to ignore reality, no matter how fanciful the fairytale.
However, for now Hakyeon has made his decision. He may be a thinker, but that doesn’t mean he can’t live in the moment.
As he smiles and leans in, he whispers gently his resolution. “I’m not going anywhere.”
-
“Happy one year anniversary!” Hakyeon smiles brightly, tone light but volume soft as Taekwoon closes the door behind him, shrugging off his coat as he does. He’s not sure what to make of the pleased yet surprised expression on Taekwoon’s face as he stands there in shock, but decides his hard work has paid off when their greeting kiss runs a little longer than usual.
“I didn’t know that this community celebrates romance.” Taekwoon murmurs when they pull away.
An abashed Hakyeon rubs the back of his head. “We don’t,” he admits, cheeks flushing but smile wide, “but I remembered you told me about the tradition in another town, and I thought that it’d be a nice surprise… I forgot what you told me they usually do though, so I sort of... improvised?” He knows he’s rambling, but he’s kind of nervous and Taekwoon has fallen silent in thought and he needs to fill the silence because he’s starting to get a sinking feeling that maybe he’s gone a bit overboard. “I baked a cake! Which I’ve been practicing ever since you told me they made strawberry cakes but couldn’t bring them back because they’d go off, and I also made dinner… and well, the sheets have been cleaned too…” he’s about to continue, but is stopped by Taekwoon’s fingers clamping his lips shut.
“You worry too much.” Taekwoon tells him simply, shaking his head in exasperation. Hakyeon isn’t fooled though - there’s undeniable pleasure in Taekwoon’s smile as he takes in the scene, and his eyes are doing that crinkly thing which he’s always so self-conscious about but shows that he’s well and truly happy. Hakyeon’s always glad when he manages to procure such a rare expression of unfiltered joy from Taekwoon.
Hakyeon is very proud of himself.
“I did however, decide that candles would be a fire hazard in my home.” Hakyeon admits as he leads them to the table atop which a bouquet of wildflowers sit in a clean pot.
Taekwoon smiles, shaking his head. “It’s okay, I don’t mind.” Then, reaching over to his coat which he had slung onto the back of a chair, he rummages in a pocket before pulling out something wrapped in unassumingly plain brown paper. “Whilst we’re on the topic of anniversary gifts-“
“Oh? Is that for me?” Hakyeon interrupts in excitement, bounding over and leaning over Taekwoon’s shoulder to take a look, resisting the urge to grab it from his grasp.
“Yes,” Taekwoon laughs as he hands it over to Hakyeon’s impatient hands. “But don’t open it now.” He says, “wait until I leave.”
Hakyeon isn’t listening. “Author, Jung Taekwoo-“ he reads, before the text disappears from his eyes. “Hey, I was reading that!”
“Did you listen to a word I said?” Taekwoon’s expression is mildly exasperated. “I said to open it when I leave.”
“Well….” Hakyeon eyes the torn wrapping in his hands. “Too late for that now.”
Taekwoon nods, humming in agreement. “In which case, I’ll give it back when it’s time for me to leave.” He says, turning back to the table. “First, let’s eat.”
Hakyeon wants to argue, wants to question why Taekwoon is so adamant on him looking at it only once he has left… but there’s a flush in Taekwoon’s cheeks that he’s sure isn’t a result of the warm temperature in Hakyeon’s home, and so he sets about cooing over how cute Taekwoon is instead. Part of him wonders why Taekwoon's so embarrassed.
-
Hakyeon was wrong. He had assumed that Taekwoon had been writing a dry, informative piece because it seemed more to his logical style, but he was wrong.
Stupefied, Hakyeon stares at the stack of pages in his shaky grasp. It’s untitled, the front page blank save for the neat print of Taekwoon’s name, but the weight of pages promise a wealth of information that’s sure to follow.
Hakyeon’s hands had been shaky as he turned that first page, but rapidly all apprehension had faded as he had become steadily engrossed in the story.
Taekwoon's writing a fictional romance, set in a world which mirrored their own so closely it's remarkable. Even more remarkable is the protagonist of the novel, a character named Leo with hunched shoulders and sore feet from days of travel, who's compelled to keep going and keep drifting until one day he finds his home in N, an unassuming but bright citizen in one of the many communities he visits.
Somehow, Taekwoon had taken the seemingly normal lives of two men and spun the story into one that gave the reader no illusions of the true nature of the piece. He had hidden a wealth of knowledge amongst the airy nonsensical nature of the romance genre, banking on the lack of credibility given to the genre and the indulgent nature of the readership in order to draw attention to what truly matters.
Hakyeon thinks that Taekwoon is a genius. As he settles in bed, despite his fatigue he picks up the bundle of pages. The rain is too noisy, he tells himself. It will be impossible to sleep until the rain ceases, he reasons, but the excuses sound hollow. Truth be told, Hakyeon is simply excited to read on. So, he picks up where he left off.
“Will you marry me?”
N stops mid-tirade, eyes wide as his mouth as he gazes in surprise at Leo. The sloppiness of the proposal serves as a contradiction to Leo’s gathered persona, but where meticulous planning is absent, sincerity is abundant.
The Brotherhood’s stance on marriage is such that duty comes above all else. Marriage is not for the sake of the formation of emotional ties, but rather serve as the preservation of normalcy and routine. Marriage is as expected as childbirth and house-buying and grocery-shopping and being friendly to one’s neighbors. Marriage between two men, whilst unlikely is not so uncommon that the two would not be able to live their lives in comfort so long as their true motivations did not appear outside of private walls.
With that, it does not take N long to formulate a response. Opening his mouth, he-
Hakyeon turns the page, and stops. There’s nothing.
Frowning slightly, Hakyeon feels discomfited as he wonders what to do next. He wants the answer, wants to know N’s answer so he can see how the rest of the story to play out. Hakyeon wants N to accept, wants N to realize that risks are worth taking if it means change can be brought about.
Hakyeon wants to say yes.
Suddenly, it clicks. Hakyeon feels stupid for not realizing it sooner, but there had been enough changes that those initial suspicions had been brushed away with ease as he had found himself more and more engrossed in the story. Some of the events which had happened within Taekwoon’s story had not occurred in real life, and some were similar but only served as analogies for the most private of moments they had shared. But Hakyeon remembers Taekwoon’s secretive smile and strange murmur of “I’ll be waiting.” when he had finally passed the package back into Hakyeon's waiting hands, ducking out the door after a kiss which had spoken of things Hakyeon had been unable to comprehend at the time.
Yes. No. Two words, one choice. Hakyeon’s mind is on overdrive, mapping out routes and scrutinizing all possibilities. Before Taekwoon, there wasn’t a single person in his life he could honestly say he would risk everything for. Sure he indulged in the community spirit the Party so staunchly advocated, but there had been distance in his friendships and each moment of so-called happiness had been tinged with a hint of detached duty.
Before Taekwoon, Hakyeon did not have anyone he would lay down everything for. The question is, does he want to do this?
Yes. Of course.
Hakyeon’s heart quickens. It feels like it’s about to soar out from his chest. Fingers drumming impatiently on the table, the rainfall is no longer an unpleasant disturbance. Now, it’s soothing, a calming balm for his excited heart. Already, he’s anticipating Taekwoon’s next return.
When will it be? Weeks? Months?
It is of no consequence - Hakyeon’s willing to wait for as long as it takes, because after he gives Taekwoon his reply they’ll have eternity side by side.
-
Taekwoon never returns.
It takes Hakyeon a decade to realize - they don’t publicise criminals. Taekwoon had once told him of another place, somewhere on the other side of the world where every day, a list of criminals and executions were announced like change in the weather. At the time, Hakyeon had been horrified. How could life be lived in constant fear that your name, your partner’s name would be next on the list?
But right now, Hakyeon wants a list.
No evidence means no confirmation. No confirmation means the possibility of survival - and of death. Hakyeon knows that if Taekwoon has indeed been captured, then there’s nothing left but death. The Party doesn’t take traitors lightly.
The need to know eats at him every day, twists itself into uncomfortable chains around his heart late at night when the duty of the Party slips away from the Commune Baker and simply reveals Cha Hakyeon lying brittle beneath the surface.
It’s been a decade. He knows that to give up hope is to give up on Taekwoon, but he is not unrealistic enough to let himself wait forever. Taekwoon would not allow him to remain stagnated in time for so long, kept waiting for something which may or may not arrive.
Hakyeon’s a thinker, and he’s got all the options mapped out. He doesn’t have to continue waiting forever, but neither will he give up without a fight.
So, he picks up the manuscript. The pages have gone soft from countless creases, but the words are still readable. Hakyeon rummages in a drawer, and hours later rubs his hands raw pink as he attempts to remove black ink from his skin.
Hakyeon breathes life into the pages, because the story hasn’t ended yet.
-
Smile wide and bright as the sun, Hakyeon warmly shakes the hand of his conversational partner, thanking them for taking time out from their day to chat to him. (He said the same thing to someone else two days ago, he’s sure.) Swiftly, he presses worn pages into waiting hands before walking off with the shoemaker who lives a few blocks over, chatting absentmindedly about the custard buns he’ll make in upcoming weeks.
It may take days, it may take weeks, but Hakyeon knows that eventually those pages will be turned and the recipient will soak in the knowledge, will indulge in the wealth that is to be gleaned from those pages. Eventually, the book will pass on to another person. Then, another.
Sometimes, Hakyeon catches whispers of how the Book has been passed to a Traveler, but not confiscated. No, the Traveler had carefully and meticulously copied the pages before handing the book back. There’re talks of the Book finding its way to the Villages of Europe. Hakyeon wonders if his custard buns will sound as delectable to them as their croissants did to him.
N and Leo are not typical heroes of any sort, but where other characters are over-the-top fantasies of unrealistic perfection, the construct of their lives are written in such a way that they feel incredibly relatable. Lifelike, even. Though the readers are upset that their ending is not one that brings closure and satisfaction, the need to pass on the story means that the characters will remain living vivaciously through the hearts and minds of others.
Hakyeon thinks that his story - their story - hasn’t ended quite yet. It never will, not really. So long as he remembers, and so long as others do, too… well, for him that’s more than enough.
-
In memory of Leo,
Fierce as a lion,
Gentle as fur,
Our story isn’t complete without two halves of a whole.
Notes:
- First off, to the lovely mods: thank you for running this exchange once more, it was a pleasure to take part!
- To the recipient: you gave me three prompts I could not choose from… so, I may or may not have tried combining them all. Hope it at least scratches the surface of your expectations!
- Whew, this isn’t exactly my /best/ work, but I feel like it stands its ground ;; Thanks for reading, and comments would be lovely <3