Round 8: Your Every Desire (TEAM AU - Part 2/5)
two
Once upon a time, there was a normal, ordinary boy, and he lived in a small house with his mother and father and grandmother, and the boy was mostly happy. The boy's father was very strict, and though he wanted the best for his son, he imposed rules that made the boy very miserable indeed. The boy often daydreamed about being whisked away to a magical kingdom, away from the simple life he grew up in, where anything was possible and everything the boy could ever want was served on a silver platter. There, the boy was sure, he would be happy.
His was a poor but proud family, and the father had grand visions of sending his son off to a prestigious school, so that one day, his son might become a noble. The son, though, had no desire to be a noble, and instead aspired to become a dancer. His father decreed that as a lark, and no fit profession at all. But the boy loved to dance, because his dancing was as close he felt he could come to magic itself, and he would not hear about giving it up. The anger built in his father, more and more, day by day, until it exploded out like a volcano, melting everything in its path. The father punished the boy severely and demanded obedience, but the boy refused, and ran away.
The boy ran without heeding where he was going, and soon found himself lost in a thick, dark forest. He didn't know what to do, and did not want to return home where his dad would hurt him, so he sat down, crying, feeling helpless and alone and like a failure. So blinded was he by his tears that he didn't notice he was no longer alone until a caring hand laid on his shoulder, and the boy looked up to meet the face of a handsome young man in resplendent, shimmering white robes. It was a sorcerer, but for some reason the boy was not scared of him. The sorcerer asked him, Are you all right? And the boy said, I'm not. This life is not for me. The white-robed sorcerer smiled slightly at that and said, I can take you away from here. Would you like to come with me?
And the boy saw a world of possibilities within that smile, so he stood, wiped his tears away, took the offered hand, and said, Yes.
Wooyoung wakes up with a throbbing headache and stinging cheeks. He's in an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar room. A few seconds pass and he remembers last night: Nichkhun's sleepy face opening the door to his shop, Nichkhun leading him inside and upstairs, Nichkhun taking Wooyoung's duffel bag from his shoulders. It had been that simple act that caused the intensity of Wooyoung's fatigue to hit him with all the grace of a ten-ton magnet; his entire body sagged and his chest felt hollow and all he wanted to do was lay down for the rest of his life. The rest of short walk to Wooyoung's current room had been a blur -- was the futon set up before or after Wooyoung got here? -- and Wooyoung thinks he might have asked Nichkhun something about favours, but Nichkhun had only shaken his head and said they'd talk in the morning, and to rest now. And. And had Nichkhun really helped Wooyoung under the covers and stroked a hand across Wooyoung's forehead? Or was that just a dream?
Wooyoung lies back down with a frown. One side of his pillow is damp; whether from tears or sweat, Wooyoung doesn't know. He turns his head away quickly and notices a footstool placed within arm's reach from the bed. On it is a glass of water and a plate of sandwiches; there's also a bright pink sticky-note stuck to the edge of the plate. Wooyoung picks it up and puzzles over the horrendous Korean spelling until he manages to decode Nichkhun's message.
Good mornin!!!! I'm downstaers manniging the store. Feel free to come down when you want!! ; ) Do you remembre wear the washroom is? Down the hall, on your left keke ^^;
At the sight of the food, Wooyoung's stomach grumbles and he realizes just how hungry he is. He takes several large bites before he feels the burning in his mouth and down his throat -- like he'd just swallowed fire. Wooyoung pulls apart the bread and finds a layer of hot sauce coating one side. Ugh. He coughs violently, dropping the rest of the sandwich as if it burned his skin too. He rushes down the hall to the washroom.
Only when he's doused the fire in his throat does Wooyoung lift his mouth from under the sink faucet and blink at himself in the bathroom mirror. He raises a hand to tentatively touch his cheek. He looks horrible. Bloodshot eyes, swollen cheek, his skin pasty and stretched, parts of it a deep purple.
But someone's cleaned and re-bandaged up his cut. Nichkhun, then? The skin underneath is still discoloured. Wooyoung prods at the bruises on either side of his face, hissing at the pain. There's another bruise near his hairline from the earlier slap. They look like they'll last for a while. Wooyoung frowns severely at his reflection.
Shit.
His father had destroyed Wooyoung's room last night. He could have done worse damage to Wooyoung's face.
Wooyoung leans forward, hands gripping the edges of the sink, trying to down the bile that suddenly rises in his throat. He ran away. Fuck, he ran away from home. And he's in a stranger's house, and he can't go to school because his injuries are too noticeable and people would ask where he got them, and Wooyoung could make up some lie, but after school ends -- where would he go? Would he come back here? To the shop? It's not like he could go anywhere else; he can't just move in with Junho and Chansung without them finding out about what happened, and Wooyoung can't deal with that right now. He can’t. But Wooyoung can't live here either, at this store.
Can he?
That room he'd come out of -- it'd looked like a guest bedroom. It was small and full of junk, but it fit a spare futon and Wooyoung remembers a desk in the far corner, by the window. That's more than enough.
He shakes his head to his reflection. "You're being idiotic," he says. "You don't even know the owner, and now you want to live here? Insane."
A clock on the wall tells Wooyoung it's past noon -- so much for going to school today. Although in all honesty he's thankful for the excuse. He wonders if he should call Chansung or Junho, let them know that he won't be making it. But they'd be in class and wouldn't be able to answer anyway. And there's nothing he'd be able to tell them. Wooyoung has to figure out what he's going to do with himself before he needlessly starts worrying his friends.
He decides to go downstairs. If nothing else, he owes Nichkhun thanks for letting him stay overnight, and for providing breakfast, as inedible as it was.
The inside of Nichkhun's shop is messy and disordered. The previous owner -- an aging, half-blind shoe salesman named Jung who’d preferred polishing his shoes to the floorboards -- hadn't left the building in very good condition. Wooyoung is gratified to see that Nichkhun has at least cleaned all the windows and swept the floors -- he'd even laid a nice patch of deep red carpet down the hall, trailing down the stairs. But there's still such a mess everywhere -- it's not dirty, but there's just such an overabundance of stuff, it hurts Wooyoung's eyes. The room he'd been in had been packed with tables of junk, chairs stacked haphazardly on top of each other, open boxes of all sizes pushed in every free space. Here, in the upstairs hallway, there's still junk bordering the edge of the floors, and the photos hanging (Nichkhun with his family? He's smiling so broadly in all of them) on the walls are all slightly crooked. It makes Wooyoung's hands itch. He can't stand messes. He runs downstairs before he gives into the urge of tidying up the boxes in the hallway.
In the main section of the shop, Nichkhun is waving a customer out, a young girl. She throws one last starry-eyed look at Nichkhun before hurrying across the street. The small bell over the front door jingles as the door closes, and Nichkhun sighs, letting his shoulders drop.
Wooyoung clears his throat.
Nichkhun whips around. "Oh! Wooyoung!" he grins. "You're awake. How are you feeling? How are your bruises?" He walks over and raises a hand to the bandages on Wooyoung's face.
"They're oka-- I'm fine," Wooyoung says, taking a step back. "Thanks. For letting me in last night, and--"
Nichkhun holds up his hands. "It's totally okay. You needed help, and I'm good at taking care of people. Did you enjoy your breakfast?"
Wooyoung shrugs awkwardly; Nichkhun seems so eager to please. "It... it was spicy," he says eventually. "But thanks anyway," he adds quickly, right after Nichkhun's face drops.
"Sorry, I'll make something not as spicy for supper, I guess?" Nichkhun offers. He tilts his head and considers Wooyoung. "May I ask you something?"
Something in Wooyoung constricts even as he takes another step away from Nichkhun. He bumps into a small counter by the wall and his fingers brush against some old angel figurines and nearly send them crashing to the floor. Here it comes, Wooyoung thinks. Nichkhun can potentially ask any number of things: where Wooyoung got his bruises, why he ran away, what he's planning to do now, why he came here of all places. Wooyoung doesn't have an answer for all of those questions. And for those that he does have answers for, he's not ready to share -- Wooyoung may have slept here for a night, but Nichkhun is still a stranger to him.
But Nichkhun apparently takes Wooyoung's panicked silence as yes, because he asks, "Do you have any money?"
Wooyoung blinks, surprised. Money?
"I have -- not a lot," he answers, trying not to cringe. It's the truth. His weekly allowance isn't a large amount, and most of the change is saved in his piggybank back home.
But Nichkhun just smiles, shaking his head. "I was kind of expecting that. Not many people have enough money for what you need." He sounds sympathetic. Wooyoung looks at him like he's a crazy person.
"...what I need?" Wooyoung mumbles.
"You like cleaning?" Nichkhun goes on. He looks pointedly at Wooyoung's hands, which are absently, without conscious effort, lining up the angel figurines on the countertop into a neat line. Wooyoung snatches his hands back immediately.
"I don't like mess," Wooyoung admits, his ears burning. "Sorry, I didn't mean to just touch--"
"It's okay," Nichkhun reassures him. He looks around his shop with a chagrined expression. "I know it's a cluttered in here. I'm the only worker. I can't keep up with stock and clean and deal with customers at the same time." His gaze slides back to Wooyoung, and Wooyoung experiences a prickly feeling of alarm; for a second, it feels like Nichkhun is assessing him.
"Do you want to help keep the store in order?" Nichkhun asks. "In exchange."
Wooyoung has no idea what Nichkhun is talking about.
"In exchange," Nichkhun prompts, nodding at Wooyoung. When Wooyoung doesn't say anything in return, he laughs. "In exchange for staying here," he finishes by himself.
What, Wooyoung thinks. Nichkhun's tone is hinting at something long-term. "I'm not," he says, then corrects himself. "I mean, just last night, and I want to repay you for that -- but I haven't thought of anything more. I haven't figure out where I want to go yet."
Now it's Nichkhun's turn to look surprised, his large eyebrows rising comically. "I don't understand. You're already here, but you want to go someplace else? Where are you planning to go?"
"I. I don't want to be a bother."
"That's why I offered the position as help, right? You said you have no money. Or, wait, do you have money? Or did you want to sell me something instead?" Nichkhun looks confused. Wooyoung feels like this is one colossal joke.
"I don't have money and I don't have anything to sell," Wooyoung says. "I don't know where I want to stay. That's why I didn't get it." He purses his lips. "Why did you assume I want to stay here?"
"People don't come to my shop for no reason," Nichkhun says. "You came here, needing a place to stay, and I can provide that for you. It's okay. I have that extra room, even though it's untidy. And I could use someone to keep the store in order. Seems like you're good at that." Something warm flashes across Nichkhun's eyes. "Am I wrong, Wooyoungie?"
Informality already, Wooyoung thinks, feeling unexpectedly light-headed. Nichkhun's being serious. Wooyoung can actually stay here. He wasn't expecting things to just... work out like this. Is this a good thing? Or too good to be true? But this place definitely seems more appealing than his other alternatives right now. Wooyoung can just stay for a little while. Plus, it's not like his parents would ever find him here. It's actually the last place they'd look. And -- and he can tell Junho and Chansung that he'd gotten a part-time job. And Wooyoung already has a bed here.
It could work.
"You're not," Wooyoung agrees, and for the second time in twenty-four hours, shakes Nichkhun's welcoming hand.
"What on earth?" Junho asks, his disbelief evident even through the cell phone. "Just yesterday you were saying how you'd never visit the store! And now you're working there? What happened? Did you accidentally break a window or something?" In the background, Wooyoung can hear Chansung's amused snort.
"What do you take me for, I'm not Chansung," Wooyoung gripes. He absently straightens a landscape painting on the wall of his room -- he'd spent the entire afternoon cleaning the place, and it's finally gotten to a stage Wooyoung can stand to live in. "He had a position open, and I could use the money. It wasn't a hard decision to make."
"It's not like you to suddenly change your opinion like this, that's all," Junho says, lowering his voice. "Does this have something to do with your parents? Did they pressure you to take the job?"
Wooyoung pauses. It would be so easy to lie about this, but he's oddly hesitant to blame his parents. It would feel... uncomfortable, bringing the presence of his parents into Nichkhun's shop, even if it's make-believe. They're not here, and Wooyoung doesn't want any part of his life here to be associated with them. Wooyoung's the one who ran away, so if nothing else, he’s the one who has to take responsibility for his own actions. If Wooyoung were a main character in one of his books, that’s how he would act. He'd rise above his trials and tribulations, become entirely independent, and show everyone just what he can do alone.
Wooyoung makes up a story in less than a second. "No, it was my own idea. I thought that if I was out every evening, then I could skip out to dance practise more often. It works out for me."
"I guess so," Junho says. "Well, good for you. I hope you won't have too much trouble keeping up with homework. Speaking of which, I got today's for you."
"Thanks."
"Do you want me to bring it to your house?"
"No!" Wooyoung says quickly. "I'm -- I'm at the shop." In his own room in the shop, to be precise, while Nichkhun deals with the after-school rush of customers downstairs. Wooyoung doesn't want to be seen if he can avoid it; it's possible that the people coming here will visit his family's store too. He'll have to be careful to stick to the backrooms.
"Already? But you're sick. Seems pretty harsh of your boss to make you work in your condition."
"No, he's," Wooyoung struggles for an adequate word to describe Nichkhun. "He's very nice. I'm doing easy things. It's fine."
"Wooyoung!" Chansung's voice comes on the phone. "Did you find out the shop's secrets? Like, how it has anything and everything?"
"No, do you still believe that?" Wooyoung asks. "I haven't done anything except reorganize dusty boxes."
"That sounds so major-ass boring."
"It's relaxing," Wooyoung sniffs.
"Oh yeah, you like cleaning. You're weird like that, Wooyoung."
"I'm hanging up now. I'll see you guys at school tomorrow." If his bruises fade enough, that is. Otherwise, he'll have to have another "migraine."
"Okay, feel better! Tomorrow we have dance practise too!"
"Yeah, I know."
"I'm looking forward to it. Junho says Jaebeom will be coming back."
Wooyoung's heart flips a little. "Oh?"
"Yeah! Jaebeom doesn't have a cell phone or anything, so I don't know how Junho is so sure about this, but he's sure sure."
"He'll be there," Junho's voice snaps, at the edge of Chansung's. "He had a good time yesterday, I could tell."
"We'll see tomorrow, anyway," Wooyoung says. "Later."
That's one phone call down. Wooyoung takes several deep breaths before dialling the next number.
The line rings twice, then is picked up. "Hello?" says his grandmother's raspy voice. Wooyoung's throat dries.
"...Grandmother," he says, very quietly.
There's a pause. "Wooyoung?" she whispers, then asks in a rush, "Are you all right? Where are you? Why -- never mind, we can talk about that later -- are you safe? We've been so worried. How long have you--"
"I'm fine, Grandmama," Wooyoung interrupts. "I didn't leave the city or anything. I'm still -- I just needed to get away. For a while. But I'm all right. I found a place to stay. I'm good."
"Wooyoung, you must come home, it isn't safe for you to be out there alone--"
"It isn't safe for me there, Grandmama," Wooyoung says, and his grandmother falls silent. "I don't want to be anywhere near him right now, not until I know what to say to him. He's gone too far this time. And I want to - I mean, I don’t think I," Wooyoung rubs his face. "I can't go back."
"Wooyoung," his grandmother sighs raggedly. "Your father, he--"
"I'm not talking to him," Wooyoung snaps.
"I wasn't going to suggest it," his grandmother returns with equal speed. "You did well to call right now; your parents are busy with the afternoon rush of customers."
"I know," Wooyoung says.
"Your mother went looking for you, last night. We weren't sure if you'd gone to an inn or to your friends' house," her voice breaks slightly, "and we were afraid that you were sleeping on the streets."
"I'm smarter than that, Grandmama."
"Oh, Wooyoung," she says softly. "You and your father both need to learn not to be so stubborn."
"Me?" Wooyoung asks, incredulous. "I'm the stubborn one?"
"You are a child who ran away from home rather than obey his parents," his grandmother replies tonelessly, as if merely stating a fact. Wooyoung winces. "Your father treated you very badly, and I understand your feelings towards him, but running away is not the answer. You have no means to live on your own. You ought to come home! You--" she cuts off to take a deep ragged breath. "You will have to face him again, sometime."
"Not now, Grandmama," Wooyoung says. "I... it wouldn't be good, to see him now. He'll lose his temper again, and I will too." He closes his eyes. "I'm staying at a nice place. I've been hired as an employee, to help pay off my keep. You guys don't have to worry about me. I'll come home when I'm ready."
It is a long while before his grandmother replies, and when she does, she sounds more tired than Wooyoung has ever heard her. "Your parents are remorseful, Wooyoung," she says. "I am as well."
"I know," Wooyoung whispers. "I know they are." They always are.
When Wooyoung finally hangs up his cell, after more promises that he is in perfect health and is in no immediate danger of dying, he looks up to see Nichkhun at the door to his room, looking at him with a shuttered expression.
"Are you going to be okay?" Nichkhun asks. Is it sympathy or pity bordering his words? Wooyoung can't tell and doesn't care to analyze.
Wooyoung shrugs and glances around at his new, temporary home. He's sitting on an old futon in the middle of a room so messy it may as well be a mini-junkyard. Two days ago, Wooyoung had never had any inclination to step into this shop at all, and here he is living in it, with a stranger for a boss slash landlord. His father beat him up not twelve hours ago because he disliked his son’s hobby. And Wooyoung's reasonably sure he just made his grandmother cry.
"Sure," Wooyoung says. “Good.”
Nichkhun gives him another long look, before tilting his head to the hallway. "Dinner?" he asks.
"You're not a very good cook," Wooyoung says, after a few sips of Nichkhun's soup. He'd held in the comment throughout the simple dinner of rice and stir-fry vegetables, but this bland soup is the final straw.
"We just have different tastes." Nichkhun pretends to be offended.
"You don't have any seasonings except salt?"
"I have plenty of hot sauce," Nichkhun says. "I didn't put any in, because you complained this morning."
Oh yeah. Wooyoung swirls his soup. "What about ramen seasoning? You could use that."
"Then what am I going to season the ramen with?"
Good question. "Hot sauce."
"Finish your soup, Wooyoungie," Nichkhun scolds mockingly. "Or no dessert." Wooyoung rolls his eyes, but does as he's told. He really shouldn't tease Nichkhun. It's not like Wooyoung can cook either. The last time he and Chansung had tried to make themselves dinner, Chansung ended up spending more time chopping up the meat than actually preparing the meat and Wooyoung overcooked the pasta so much that it took five minutes to chew one mouthful. Good thing they'd ordered the cake from the store, otherwise Junho's birthday dinner would have been a totally irredeemable failure.
As Nichkhun gathers up their plates, Wooyoung surveys Nichkhun's tiny kitchen. Like Wooyoung's kitchen at home, Nichkhun's was also located at the back of the store, behind the door labelled "Employees Only." Nichkhun's kitchen is much smaller though, probably because he's got two more smaller rooms sectioning off from the narrow hallway -- Wooyoung presumes one of them must be Nichkhun's office. The other one... maybe a utility closet?
"Do you own this shop?" Wooyoung asks abruptly. He hadn't thought that Nichkhun was rich, from the state of his shop, but he remembers that Nichkhun hadn't inherited the shoe store and renovated -- he'd opened this place up, by himself.
Nichkhun comes back to the table with two bowls of ice cream. "Yeah!" he says proudly. "It's my own store."
"You're a bit young," Wooyoung mentions, giving Nichkhun a speculative once-over.
Nichkhun shrugs, unbothered. "You're young too."
"But my parents own our shop."
"So do mine, in a sense. I mean, it's my shop and my responsibility, but my parents were the one who gave it to me."
Oh, so Nichkhun did inherit it. But that makes no sense, because this building used to be a shoe store, not Dreamhouse. "You had shop set up somewhere else and decided to move to Seoul?" Wooyoung asks. "Or are you expanding?"
Nichkhun's smile twists and he takes a small bite of his ice cream. "No, I -- it's sort of a long story." At Wooyoung's prolonged stare, he sighs. "I travel around with my shop," he explains. "I started out in Thailand -- that's where I'm from -- then I went to Singapore for a bit, then New Zealand, and Britain too, for a short while. I lived in America for a long time, before coming here. Actually, I was travelling around America. I wasn't planning to come to Korea, but, um. Things happened, I guess. So now I'm here."
Wooyoung can't believe this guy. What he's saying makes sense linguistically, but not logically. "You travel around with this shop?" he repeats. He doesn't mean to sound suspicious, but seriously. Nichkhun is completely strange.
Nichkhun laughs, the edges of his eyes crinkling. "I've got a weird set-up, I suppose. Anyway, it's okay. I think I'll have to stay here for a while, so you don't need to worry about me leaving you alone."
"That's not--"
The bell hanging over the front door jingles, signalling the arrival of a new customer. Nichkhun stands up, wiping his hands on his jeans. "Sorry, I'll be right back."
Wooyoung finishes the rest of his ice cream slowly, listening to Nichkhun's quiet voice talking with the customer. He feels off, not quite like himself. He usually has problems getting to know new people, because Wooyoung's rarely the one who starts conversations; he prefers to wait until the other person has something interesting to say to him. And if they don't, even better. It's not Wooyoung's job to be a social butterfly or to make other people feel comfortable in his presence. And okay, he knows that he should probably make more of an effort to be friendly to Nichkhun, after all the help Nichkhun has given him, and it's just the two of them here -- but throughout dinner, Wooyoung had been making real conversation with Nichkhun. And it hadn't been too annoying. And even when he'd made sarcastic comments, Nichkhun had just laughed, not offended at all. And most notably, there had been no prying about Wooyoung's home life. Nichkhun seemed to be happy with whatever Wooyoung wanted to talk about.
Yeah. The guy is completely strange.
Wooyoung heads to the door separating the backroom area from the rest of the store and half-opens it, peeking through to see Nichkhun not too far away, sorting through a large box of aging books and magazines. He watches as Nichkhun carefully extracts one of the books, its cover practically falling off, and returns to the counter, where an old man is waiting nervously.
"Is this it?" Nichkhun asks him.
The man takes the book and stares at it for a very long time. When he looks back up at Nichkhun, Wooyoung is startled to see that his eyes are shining with tears.
"Yes, this is the exact--" the old man croaks, his fingers tracing the edges of the book with reverence. "This is what I've been -- how did you find this? Thank you, thank you, thank you."
Wooyoung sees Nichkhun incline his head. "That's my job. I'm glad you're happy with it."
"Thank you," the man whispers again. "Please, name your price, anything." He opens his jacket and takes out his wallet from one of its internal pockets.
"Wait," Nichkhun says. "What was that thing? In your jacket."
The old man pauses. "What, this?" He reaches in his pocket again and removes a thin rectangular box. He hands it to Nichkhun and waits for him to flip the lid before he says, "My granddaughter asked me to purchase it for her, but I got it in the wrong colour set. I was heading back to the department store to exchange it."
"This is fine, for payment," Nichkhun says, snapping it shut. "Is that okay?"
The old man's eyebrows rise. "That? Well, of course. It's not worth that much; it was on sale. And for this book, I would think--"
"It's an equal trade," Nichkhun says. "Thank you for your business."
"Well, if you insist! I must ask, young man," the senior adds, as he turns to head out. "How ever did you come into possession of this book? I thought that I'd lost it forever when we've moved house. This is the first edition and everything, and it looks like an exact replica of my old copy. My goodness, the way you just found it! Like magic!"
"All first editions of that book must look pretty old these days," Nichkhun laughs. "It's probably just a coincidence. Anyway, like I said, it's my job to get you what you want. That's the point of the shop." He waves goodbye cheerfully as the old man leaves. "Come again soon!"
Oh my God, Wooyoung thinks, staring at Nichkhun's totally inconspicuous back. Chansung was right.
The same thing happens, for every single customer who crosses Nichkhun's front door. The person needs something, and Nichkhun has it. A green-glass chest set, an old pair of ballerina shoes (the perfect size), a bag of bird seed imported from Japan, Nichkhun had it all. Some purchases were made with money, some were not. But the price always seemed to be one that the customer is keen on paying -- "Anything, take anything," they all said -- just to get that one possession they'd set their heart on.
Lying on his futon that night, staring at the ceiling, Wooyoung thinks about magic.
Okay, so magic doesn't exist in real life, and Wooyoung knows that. Of course he does. ...But he also knows that there are millions of things on Earth that remained unexplained, unconstrained by scientific laws and common sense. He knows that sometimes miracles happen. The world can't be as cut and dry as a textbook. Wooyoung has a much easier time believing that it's like a novel, instead: imaginative, discoverable, with hidden depths. Wooyoung doesn't know if he really believe in the supernatural, but he likes to think that there may be more to the world than what he sees every day. He's willing to be convinced.
And again, it comes back to being an issue about the strange nature of this shop. In any other situation, Wooyoung might be skeptical, but he is finding it surprisingly easy to suspend any disbelief in this place. Chansung always berates Wooyoung for being too gullible about sentimental things, but Wooyoung doesn’t just believe stuff for no reason. Maybe it's because the trust that Nichkhun has inexplicably placed in Wooyoung has unconsciously created some form of reciprocity within him. Maybe it's because Nichkhun seems so foreign and exotic and mysterious, all on his own. But even if Wooyoung is being objective, he has a hard time understanding how Nichkhun staged those sales. He couldn't have hypnotized all those customers, when they came in the door. It really was just like Chansung had said: Nichkhun simply just... had whatever the person happened to be looking for. It was absurd, and yet that's the way it seemed to work. Wooyoung startles, is Nichkhun a mind-reader?
That's ridiculous. And mind-readers can't magically put objects into shops, after all.
Maybe Nichkhun's some kind of witch.
Wooyoung cuts off his train of thought right there. Get a grip, he tells himself. Don't start indulging your stupid fantasies. Don't be ridiculous. There's probably some logical explanation for all of this. Nichkhun isn't magical.
The thought is oddly disappointing.
The next day Wooyoung spends tidying up the piles of junk hidden in the shadows of the back of the shop, glowering at inanimate objects. That morning, he'd stared at himself in the mirror and pronounced the state of his bruises unsatisfactory. The swelling has gone down, but the colour is still prominent. He's upset because it means he won’t be able to go to dance practise tonight. The thought sours his mood for the entire day, and he ends up snapping at Nichkhun multiple times.
"Just tell me what's wrong," Nichkhun finally says, at lunch, after Wooyoung spends over five minutes staring at his glass of water. "Did you get a call from your parents?"
"No," Wooyoung says.
"Then what?"
"It's nothing," says Wooyoung. It is nothing. It's stupid. Why is he so upset that he can't go to dance practise? It's not actually that big of a deal. He's missed practise before, lots of times. Those instances were all because his father made him stay at home, but still. It wasn't uncommon. It's not the end of the world if Wooyoung can’t dance today.
But somehow, it's just not sitting well with him. Wooyoung's out of his house now. Out of the grasp of filial responsibility and parental rule. He's, for the lack of a better word, free. He should be able to do what he enjoys. It was wanting to dance that got Wooyoung into this whole mess and Wooyoung wants it to be worth it. But no, here he is, away from his father and still under his influence, trapped by the marks left on his body.
Shit.
Nichkhun keeps his distance from Wooyoung for the rest of the afternoon. Wooyoung keeps to the back rooms and pointedly does not keep track of how many customers' wishes Nichkhun is no doubt fulfilling in the impossible way he does. It's only when Wooyoung hears a pair of very familiar voices drift through the air that he freezes, and peeks through the Employees Only door to spy on the two new people who've entered the store.
"Hi," Chansung's saying eagerly, craning his neck this way and that. "Cool shop! Look at all your stuff, wow."
"Thanks," Nichkhun's smiling back widely. "What kind of things are you guys looking for?"
"We're actually looking for our friend," Junho says smoothly. "Is he here? Jang Wooyoung?"
Nichkhun looks surprised. "Oh, yeah, he is. He's helping me tidy up my stock. Let me go get him."
As soon as he comes into the back room, Wooyoung grabs his arm and puts a finger to his own lips. "Tell them I'm taking a nap, because of a headache or something."
"What?" Nichkhun fumbles. "Why?"
"Are you stupid?" Wooyoung hisses. "I can't let them see me like this," he raises a hand to his bruised cheek. "They'll -- they'll ask about it. And they already know a lot, I don't--" he pauses. "I don't want to talk about it."
Nichkhun purses his lips thoughtfully. "They're your friends, Wooyoung. I'm sure they'd only want to help you."
"No, it's not--" Wooyoung starts. "It's that I don't want them to know. It's not their business, they'd only worry. I don't need that. My family -- I keep it separate from other things, if I can." He's explaining this badly, but Wooyoung has always kept his home situation private. He's ashamed of it, but he doesn't want pity, and he most definitely does not want the negativity he faces at home bleeding into other aspects of his life, like his friends. He hadn't wanted it to bleed into his dancing either, but that'd been a lost cause from day one.
"We can cover up the bruises, if you want," Nichkhun offers.
"What?"
"I've got this," Nichkhun reaches into the pocket of his apron and takes out the thin, metal box he'd gotten yesterday from the old man who'd been looking for a book. He opens it and presents its contents to Wooyoung. A makeup kit.
"You're insane," Wooyoung says, blinking at the case. "You got that yesterday. How did you know I might need it today? You couldn't have known my friends were coming by. It's impossible that things just work out like this."
"Improbable, yeah," Nichkhun grins. "But not impossible. This is just the way my shop works, Wooyoung. One man's trash is another man's treasure, right? Plus, I have a good eye for things that people might need." He swipes a bit of foundation onto his finger and presses it to Wooyoung's nose. "Ah, you see," he says, satisfied. "It matches your skin tone."
"That is a freakish ability. You are freak," Wooyoung says with conviction.
Nichkhun frowns. "I don't appreciate name-calling."
"What kind of game are you running here?"
Nichkhun just sighs. "Stop being silly. Your friends are out there waiting for you. Do you want to see them or not?"
Wooyoung bites his cheek.
"Soooo," Chansung starts, after they're well out of hearing range of the store. Somehow, he's managed to convince Wooyoung and Junho to accompany him to the grocery store. Nichkhun had waved them goodbye with a kind reminder to watch out for mouldy fruit. "Is there anything you want to tell us?"
"Other than my surprise that your mom is sending you to get her groceries today?" Wooyoung says. "You'll eat half of the food before you make it home. She must have been desperate."
"She was, but that wasn't what I meant. I was talking about your new job."
"Whatever you want to say," Wooyoung gripes, digging a knuckle into his right eye. "Say it. Just spit it out."
Chansung bats his eyelashes, wearing an expression that can only be described as lascivious. "Your boss," he says.
"What about him?"
"Is he nice?" Chansung says, twirling one hand in a circle. "You know, friendly?"
"Of course he is," Wooyoung says, voice light. "He's a nice person." Chansung's forming grin tells Wooyoung that he'd answered that question in the right -- but wrong -- way. "What? What are you saying?" Wooyoung scowls.
"You guys were in the back room a pretty long time, that's all," Chansung says. "And he hired you so spur-of-the-moment. Do you think it was maybe love at first sight?"
As Wooyoung sputters, Junho groans, "Can you stop? Come on. It's only Wooyoung's second day. Can't you wait at least a week before starting in with the jokes?"
Chansung laughs. "I'm just kidding around, chill. We can talk about something else. You're pretty grouchy today."
"Sorry," Junho mutters. "Headache. My brother came by for dinner last night, but he got a phone call from work. He was up all night yelling at his managers and I couldn't sleep because of the noise."
"Something's going badly on his US tour plans?"
Junho nods tightly. "Remember when his company had open auditions for dance crews a few months ago? The winner for each city got slated to be one of the opening acts for my brother, when his tour passed through there. His tour is supposed to start in Seattle, but that place is already giving him a lot of trouble. The dance crew that won had this kid that my brother really liked. Really talented, apparently. My brother was looking forward to seeing more of him, maybe even bring him back to Korea to sign with his company."
"So? His company didn't like that?"
"No, they were fine with it, once they saw the kid's audition tapes. He was Korean-American too, even though he'd lived in the United States all of his life. But I remember my brother saying the guy was really happy to get the opportunity, and was eager to sign up."
"Then what's the problem?"
Junho's lips thin unhappily. "The guy disappeared."
"What?"
"Yeah. I don't know either. He's just... gone. My brother's going nuts about it. The guy's crew seems to have no memory of him, and his audition tapes are missing, and his cell phone is dead, there's no paper record of him, and... yeah. Gone."
"What the hell," Chansung cries. "The guy ran off? Right before he was supposed to perform with Rain? The Rain? Is he stupid or something? Rain."
"I know who Rain is, thanks," Junho says flatly.
"Oh, yeah, sorry," Chansung shrugs, sheepish. "But -- but, performing! With Rain! And he just... leaves? What is that!"
"Yeah, like I said. It's a mess. My brother thinks the dance crew pulled a fast one on him, and he doesn't want them in his show anymore. But the crew won the competition, after all, so they have the contract. And they really seem to know nothing about their missing member. My brother's livid. He said that that kid had been one of the best he'd seen. Guess he's mostly pissed because he's disappointed in the kid for skipping out." Junho runs a hand through his hair, frowning. "It all sounds really shady, in my opinion. People don't just pop out of existence like that."
"That's kinda shitty."
"Pretty much."
"So what's your brother going to do?"
Junho tsks. "What can he do? He's got a tour to complete. He might look for other opening acts, since the tour's not for a month or so, we'll see. But that guy's on his own now. It's not Jihoon hyung's problem anymore."
"I guess."
Wooyoung says nothing. As Junho and Chansung continue to talk, all Wooyoung can think of is the fact that some person -- some stupid, idiotic person -- had given up his chance to become a professional dancer under a successful talent agency. That kid was set to fulfill his dream, and he'd chosen something else instead. Wooyoung has never heard of something so patently foolish. He has no idea what he'd be willing to do, to simply be offered the same kind of chance. A lot, probably.
"A sale on bananas!" Chansung shouts suddenly, and sprints the rest of the way down the street to the grocery store. Junho gives Wooyoung a wry look and they follow at a more leisurely pace.
"About your job," Junho ventures, and Wooyoung just barely represses a sigh. Junho seems to sense his irritation though, because he says quickly, "I just wanted to make sure you’re okay with it. You really were in the back room with your boss for a long time. He's not being mean to you behind closed doors or anything, is he?"
"His name's Nichkhun," Wooyoung says. He quickly thinks up a lie. "And it was my fault. I'd spilt a bucket of mop water and he was helping me tidy it up. He's actually... he's been very patient with me. I didn't expect that." He surprises himself by realizing that it's true. He really hadn't expected Nichkhun to be so accommodating to Wooyoung's admittedly prickly personality. But the two of them seem to be getting along quite well. At least so far.
"Well, good," Junho says, clapping Wooyoung on the shoulder. "I'm glad to hear that. You deserve the best, Wooyoung. I was just worried, that's all. He -- Nichkhun, right? -- he does seem like a nice person, though. Honestly."
"Yeah, he is," says Wooyoung. Impulsively, he decides to buy Nichkhun some seasoning.
"I'm not a very good cook," Wooyoung admits, cringing, after taking a taste of his own soup. Even with the ramen mix added in, it's debatably horrible. The spice is burning his throat. Wooyoung coughs and reaches for his glass of water.
"It's delicious," Nichkhun reassures him, spooning more of the gunk into his mouth. Wooyoung gapes. He doesn’t know if Nichkhun is just being really, really, really damn nice to him, or if the guy just does not possess a set of working taste buds. It's probably a mix of both.
"Thanks for making dinner, Wooyoungie," Nichkhun continues slurping more of Wooyoung's disgusting soup. "And thanks for getting me more groceries as well! I was surprised."
Wooyoung shifts in his seat. "I noticed your fridge was pretty empty," he says. "And I'm decent at finding sales."
"A deal maker, hm?" Nichkhun nods. "Me too!"
"I mean supermarket discounts. Not random bartering."
"It's the same principle though, isn't it? Sort of? There's something you want to buy, and this is how much you think it's worth, so you look for a place that offers it to you for that much. Well," Nichkhun scratches his ear. "I guess you're right. I don't cut corners. I make full price sales."
"Sure," Wooyoung says, gathering up their empty bowls. "I have to go to dance practise now."
"Okay," Nichkhun replies easily as he gets up from the table. "Have fun, then. Do you need me to help touch up your makeup before you go?"
His reaction is so smooth and straightforward that Wooyoung almost can't believe it; he waits for a moment just to make sure Nichkhun doesn’t suddenly change his mind. Wooyoung’s not used to this kind of laxness. He's always had to fight to be able to attend practises. Either that, or sneak out. Realistically, he'd known that Nichkhun wouldn't put up the same fuss about his dancing that his parents did, but still, to actively encourage it? The sudden freedom is exhilarating. Wooyoung takes his time rinsing their plates in the sink while he tries to get his own smile under control. Maybe running away from home hadn’t been the worst idea in the world. If Wooyoung knew he’d be treated with this kind of consideration, then he would have started bunking with Nichkhun ages ago.
His mood once again improves when he arrives at the community centre and sees Jaebeom and Junho there, already practising. Jaebeom smiles when Wooyoung approaches, and Wooyoung is startled to realize that Jaebeom remembers his name.
"Of course I do," Jaebeom laughs, when Wooyoung reveals this to him during a water break. "What, did you think I was a retard or something? I can remember names, even if I might not be able to spell them."
"There were enough of us introduced to you last practise that you may have gotten confused," Wooyoung explains, slightly embarrassed.
"Yeah, well," Jaebeom shrugs, taking a swig of his water. "Junho introduced you guys first, so it was easy to remember. The other guys in your crew, I'm not so sure of. Besides. You and Chansung and Junho are the best dancers, so you guys stand out. "
Wooyoung flushes, flattered. The offhand compliment stays with him for the rest of the night and afterwards, everyone congratulates Wooyoung on how well he'd performed that night. He can't stop grinning, and once, nearing the end of practise, he makes Chansung and Jaebeom laugh so hard that Chansung snorts and Jaebeom chokes on his mouthful of water. It's only after a few moments, when Jaebeom is still coughing slightly, that Junho asks if he's okay.
"I'm cool," Jaebeom says, patting his chest heavily. "I think I just caught a cold today, maybe. Whatever, it's cool." Junho rubs his back as they wait for him to catch his breath.
"Maybe we should stop a bit early today?" Chansung suggests. "I'm pooped. We did good though."
It takes a little more effort to convince Wooyoung and Junho, but when Jay voices that he's fine with calling it an early night, they agree. The rest of the guys say their goodbyes to the other members and Wooyoung helps gather up their empty water bottles, so he doesn't notice until Junho calls for him:
"Wooyoung, your mom's here." He points to the front doors of the building.
Wooyoung freezes, unable to look.
Shit, he thinks in a rush. No, no, he was supposed to have more time! He wasn't supposed to see either of his parents until he was ready! How could have he been so stupid? How could he have forgotten that his family knew his dance practise schedule? Of course they'd come looking for him here, of course, fuck himself for not anticipating that. He's going to have to go home. He's going to get yelled at. He might get hit again. He might be banned from every stepping foot in this community centre again.
Just like that, Wooyoung's entire evening, his impossibly perfect evening, from shopping to dinner to Nichkhun fixing his makeup to dance practise, is completely torn to pieces around him.
He should have known it couldn't have lasted.
"Wooyoung?" Junho asks. Jaebeom and Chansung are both staring at him.
Maybe if Wooyoung begs enough, his father will forgive him for running away -- but dancing is out of the question now. Shit, Wooyoung’s not ready for this; he doesn't know what to say to them, he doesn't know how to change his father's mind --
"Wooyoung, you're shaking," Chansung says, and reaches over to grab his hands. Wooyoung jerks away.
"I'm just tired," he says quickly, then turns around to face his mother. He can't see her expression clearly from this distance. He wonders how disappointed she is in him.
"She's been watching you for a while," Jaebeom says quietly. "When you were dancing too. Sorry, I saw her come in -- I didn't know she was your mom."
Wooyoung walks closer grudgingly; expecting the worst. However, what he gets to see instead is a small, tentative smile on his mother's face. Before he can say anything, she holds up her wrist, and catching Wooyoung's eyes, she very deliberately taps her watch with a finger.
"You were wonderful," she says, just loud enough for him to hear. "Be safe. Call Grandma if you need anything." And with a turn of the heel, then she's gone.
Wooyoung's dumbstruck.
"What was that about?" Junho asks, coming up to Wooyoung's side. "Is she telling you to hurry up and go home?"
"No." Wooyoung can't believe it himself, but he thinks, maybe -- "She was giving me more time."
"Wow, look at you," Chansung grins. "That made you happy, eh? Your smile is huge." He raises a hand to pinch Wooyoung's left cheek.
"No, don't--" Wooyoung hisses automatically, drawing away and clapping a hand to his face. Oh no. His makeup--
Chansung's mouth drops open. He stares at the foundation coating his fingertips, then back up to Wooyoung's face. "Was that -- Wooyoung."
"No, it wasn't, it wasn't."
"Wooyoung." Junho's face is very grim. "What is going on with you? Where did you get that--"
"It was just an accident," Wooyoung says hastily. "It's nothing. I borrowed some makeup from Nichkhun because it's really nothing. There's no need to worry. I'm just clumsy."
Junho doesn't look convinced at all. "You always say that. You know you're not clumsy, Wooyoung."
"If you've got - Wooyoungie, you know you can tell us stuff," Chansung says softly, brows knitted.
"I know," Wooyoung says. "I know I can."
"It's okay," Jaebeom's voice pipes up. He's standing a little apart from them, his posture awkward, as if he's not sure whether he should stay or go. He looks uncomfortable. "Wooyoung can tell you when he's ready. Right?"
"I--" Wooyoung expels a long breath. "Yeah. It's really -- I'm fine, right now."
The gaze Junho shoots at Jaebeom is equal parts incredulity and anger, but he purses his mouth and doesn't say anything more. Chansung looks hurt and confused, so Wooyoung darts over and touches his back briefly. "Thanks though, you two," he mutters, and Chansung shrugs, lips jutting out to a small pout. Junho nods once, tersely, obviously trying not to stare at the purple smudge now bared on Wooyoung's cheek. Wooyoung meets Jaebeom's eyes over Chansung's shoulder and feels his gratitude swell. Jaebeom smiles back weakly.
Wooyoung thinks of that smile, later, when he lets himself into Nichkhun's shop. He hadn't felt it necessary to take an extra set of the shop's keys, but Nichkhun had insisted. It's disconcerting, how much trust Nichkhun has placed in him already. It's as if now that Wooyoung is working for him, Nichkhun already thinks of him as an old friend. Which, frankly, is foolish beyond measure, but Wooyoung is glad for it; yelling at Nichkhun for being so kind to strangers isn't exactly beneficial for Wooyoung's current living arrangement.
Nichkhun hasn’t even asked Wooyoung about the events that brought Wooyoung to his shop, that first night. And Wooyoung is thankful for this; he’s neither ready nor willing to talk about those things, and if how he reacted to seeing his mom tonight is any indication, he still won’t be, for a while.
And Wooyoung’s still in disbelief that his mother had let him go, just like that. What was she going to tell his father? Was she going to get hurt on his behalf? Wooyoung didn't want that. But his mom has lived with his father for much longer than Wooyoung has, so he trusts that she knows better than Wooyoung how to avoid the man's temper. And she isn't stubborn and prideful like Wooyoung was; if she had left Wooyoung to his own devices, then Wooyoung believes that she had simply thought it was the best choice to make.
He'll have to be more alert around Junho and Chansung, though. Wooyoung hasn't gotten physically hurt at home that many times, but today hadn't been the first instance they'd caught him with bruises. They know him too well to take more of his excuses -- hell, they've probably already figured out Wooyoung's secret and are just waiting for his sordid confession. But they hadn't called him on it yet. They hadn't today either, even though it had been a close shave. Because of Jaebeom's help. Jaebeom had defended Wooyoung's privacy, when he had no clue at all about Wooyoung's situation. Why were all of these strangers so nice to Wooyoung, when his own father couldn't even manage to give a careless compliment?
Bitterness, Wooyoung reflects, takes to his family all too easily.
"Hyung," Wooyoung calls out, once inside the shop, greeted by emptiness. Dreamhouse is closed for the day, with all of the first floor lights shut, save for the thin strip of light edging under the Employees Only door. Wooyoung unlocks it, heading inside. Where is Nichkhun? Maybe in the kitchen? The guy seemed to really love eating.
But the inside hall is dim too, and Wooyoung blinks as the white light he'd seen before suddenly spills out like sunshine from a quickly opened door. Nichkhun appears, looking sheepish and harried, and quickly shuts the door behind him. The light disappears; then the hallway is bathed with the usual yellow glow of the shop's lamps. Wooyoung looks behind Nichkhun -- it's the unmarked room, the one that's not Nichkhun's office. Probably not a utility closet as Wooyoung had thought, then.
"Hi," Nichkhun smiles, wiping his hands on his apron. "How was practise?" He's sweating, Wooyoung realizes. And is his skin even paler than normal? Or is it just because it's dark in the room?
"Good," Wooyoung answers, bemused, as Nichkhun puts a hand on the small of his back and directs him towards the kitchen table. "Really good. What are you doing?"
"Feeding you, of course," Nichkhun says, opening up a cupboard and taking out a bag of chips that Wooyoung had bought that afternoon. "You look hungry."
Wooyoung is. He grabs the chips bag eagerly. "Thanks."
"Your makeup is smudged," Nichkhun notes. Wooyoung pauses, mid-bite. "Did you know?"
Wooyoung swallows his mouthful of chips slowly. "It's okay," he says. "They didn't ask questions. I was relieved. My mom--" he clears his throat. "My mother came by to watch us for a bit. But she left before I could say anything to her."
"I'm sure what she saw was reassuring to her then," Nichkhun says, offering Wooyoung a glass of water.
"Thanks," Wooyoung says again. He looks up at Nichkhun, who's sipping from his own drink. "How do you do that?"
"Do what?"
"With the food, and the water. And earlier, with the makeup. How do you figure out what I need before I mention it?"
Nichkhun tilts his head, eyes sparkling. "That's just my job, Wooyoungie."
"You are a very strange person, hyung," Wooyoung says.
Nichkhun laughs shortly. "Well, you're living with me now, so it'd be best if you got used to it. I keep my store a bit differently than the usual method. You'll understand that soon too, probably."
Wooyoung keeps his face perfectly blank as he deadpans, "So you're magical after all. I see."
Predictably, that makes Nichkhun smile wider. "Well, I can't give away all of my secrets at once," he teases. "You'd get bored of me."
No, Wooyoung thinks, staring carefully at Nichkhun's face. The room's lighting casts warm curves on Nichkhun's cheeks, sparks the ends of his hair into a dusting of gold, and traces the contours of Nichkhun's smile into a shape that Wooyoung can’t help but find fascinating. No, Wooyoung really doesn't think he will.
So the sorcerer took the boy’s hand and said, You have to close your eyes now. Trust me. So the boy did, and felt himself falling into darkness, only to be woken by a faint kiss pressed to his lips. When he opened his eyes, the boy saw the sorcerer smiling at him, and all around them was a magical kingdom, and it was everything the boy had ever dreamed of.
Here, there was magic at his fingertips, the sun was warm on his skin, and he was free to dance as much as he wished, with no fear of punishment. Here, the boy felt, was where he was always meant to be. And while the boy accustomed himself to his new life in the sorcerer’s castle, the sorcerer was there with him, every step of the way, so it wasn't long before the boy considered him a friend.
Sometimes the wizard disappeared deep into his castle to do important things, but the boy understood that such actions were necessary to preserve the balance of the kingdom. The sorcerer was a kind person and always was willing to lend a hand to whoever needed it; the boy was proud that he was someone who the sorcerer had brought from another distant land.
Time passed in the boy's new kingdom, and he was delighted to spend his days here. He was away from his old life and his tyrannical father, and gradually, the boy felt himself opening up and sharing more about his hopes and dreams with the sorcerer. And his friend seemed to like that too. Together, the two of them lived in the sorcerer’s castle and the sorcerer taught the boy a lot about how the world worked and how he liked to bring people happiness and how to keep nature balanced, and the boy soaked it all up with eager ears and eyes and heart.
And then one day, the sorcerer told the boy that he loved him, and the boy thought, yes, this is magic; yes, he'd finally found his happily ever after.
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