Two Way Monologue [2/3]
Two
“Sometimes, you just have to stop talking and listen for a bit. Look.” Through the glass, Jongin watches Baekhyun as he cups his left ear, cocking his head slightly, eyes closed. “Each sound is different, and the longer you listen to it, the more distinct the differences are. For example, spring is like meringue in your tongue, and winter is like a curl of sugar on snow. Autumn sounds like,” Baekhyun makes a face. “Like the sounds of knots in a dog’s coat or something you wipe your feet on. Sandpaper-y.”
“They look like sandpaper.”
“Exactly! Every day, you can see that the brown always creeps up on the green. You can actually watch the colours change.” Baekhyun’s eyes seem to sparkle as he describes this, and Jongin is stunned speechless by the sight.
After a while Baekhyun seems to have caught on Jongin’s staring. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
"Like what?"
“Like…” Baekhyun hesitates. “Just, why?”
“You take notice of such ordinary things it’s…a little disconcerting.”
Baekhyun laughs in a way that makes Jongin’s head spin - kind of like when he’s on ecstasy, but a thousand times better.
“Disconcerting? Am I really that weird?”
“No, not at all. I actually think you’re a much better person than I am.”
At this, Baekhyun grins a cheeky grin from across the glass, and Jongin struggles to return his smile. His eyes fall to Baekhyun’s hands on the table, bound with metal handcuffs - a reminder of what sets them apart.
Baekhyun’s gaze follows Jongin’s, and his smile falters. Because for a while there, Baekhyun had forgotten about the glass barrier between them.
It’s their third Thursday together - or fourth? Baekhyun had lost count. Jongin is still coming in the place of Chanyeol, and that’s all he can remember. At first he lamented the thirty-minute time slot he’d have every Thursday, and he was sure the conversations would turn awkward, with Baekhyun wondering half the time if there’s a word in the dictionary for when people know the truth but pretend they don’t. He was convinced it was a fluke, when Jongin spilled everything to Baekhyun. He didn’t expect a repeat of it.
But then Jongin hadn’t talked about his problems. He treated the conversations as normal ones, like he’s speaking to a friend - and Baekhyun finds that he doesn’t mind the sore throats he’d always end up with at the end of the visiting hours, nor the little bits of Jongin he takes away with him every Thursday. With Jongin, Baekhyun doesn’t feel like he’s searching for unreachable answers - but to look for better questions, and it’s with this subtle aura of mystery that Baekhyun finds himself addicted to.
As if reminded of his position, Baekhyun leans back and away from the glass barrier, clearing his throat and doing his best to continue the conversation.
“How’s your friend?”
Jongin nods slowly. “He’s recovering well. Soon, he’ll visit you again.”
“No.” Baekhyun says a little too quickly, earning a raised eyebrow from Jongin. “I mean, he doesn’t - you can. Hold on.” Baekhyun takes a deep breath, swaying from right to left when he says: “I’d...like it if you came here instead. It feels better with someone more, you know, my age.”
“My friend is probably more of your age. How can you tell that we’re of the same age?” Jongin challenges. “I might be a 50-year-old man who happens to take really good care of his skin.”
“Possibly." Baekhyun misses the humour. "But really, can you…you know?”
Jongin bites his lip. “I’ll try. I like it, too, coming here. It’s like a break from everyday life. It reminds me of the one thing I liked from my time dancing.”
“Was it backstage passes?”
Jongin looks at Baekhyun incredulously. “Was that the best you could think of?”
Baekhyun has the decency to at least look sheepish. “What is it then?”
“Snow days for Kai.”
“Kai?”
“It was the stage name I used to be known with. Does it sound weird?” Jongin laughs. “I’d be busy every day, attending every dance class my parents lined up for me and following the instructors’ orders. But often during winter, the snow falls so heavily that my parents wouldn’t be able to drive me to my lessons. On those days, I didn’t have to stay cooped up indoors. I’d sneak out and play outside with the other kids at a nearby park, and I’d stay there long after it got dark. Long after everyone else had gone home.”
Baekhyun imagines a young Jongin squatting in the snow, oblivious to the cold and simply enjoying his own freedom even in the dark. Baekhyun can imagine how he’d smile - unrestrained, probably a little too wide for someone who’s only really just messing around in the park. But Baekhyun thinks it must have been the most beautiful sight to see. After all, humans find the most beauty in things they don’t see often.
“I didn’t have to be Jongin on those days. So I named it Kai’s Days. A solution always comes much easier when you’re just a child - for me, a name change was all it took to be free.”
Just then the door creaks open, and Junmyeon peeks in rather apologetically.
“I’m sorry, but visiting times are over.” At the pathetic look Baekhyun sends his way, Junmyeon sighs. “I know, 30 minutes pass by very quickly. But there’s always next Thur -” Wincing a little when he realises how insensitive it sounds, Junmyeon changes the subject. “Jongin, do you have somewhere to go?”
“Probably just to visit Chanyeol. After that I’ll just go back home.” Jongin stands up to pick up his bag.
“It’s a snow day today.”
Jongin does a double take. “I’m…sorry?”
“It’s snowing outside. So,” Baekhyun shrugs. “Isn’t it Kai’s Day today?”
÷
“I’ll try and see if I can get your visiting hours extended.”
“Huh?”
“You’ve been looking better little by little each day. You - and him, too.”
It’s intentional, the way Junmyeon walks painfully slowly to the cell, just so he can talk to Baekhyun longer. The boy obviously needs the company. And if Baekhyun had noticed this random act of kindness, he’s not letting on.
“It feels nice. Having a normal conversation like that. I have a lot to talk about, too.”
“How about you send him letters?”
Baekhyun frowns. “Letters?”
“You can send him one whenever you want. Write anything you might say to him during your meeting, we won’t read it don’t worry.”
Baekhyun weighs up the pros and cons. “Won’t Jongin find them…depressing?”
“He comes here specifically to see you. It would be the last thing on his mind.”
÷
Jongin stays rooted to the ground draped in a thick blanket of snow, at the edge of a small park he had stumbled upon. His boots are starting to dampen from the cold; but it doesn’t bother him, because he’s far too busy staring.
A few children run across the outstretched expanse of white, laughing hysterically and rolling around on the ground despite the chilly weather. Their tiny gloved hands grab at the snow to form small snowballs, and Jongin feels a sense of longing all of a sudden.
He’s so lost in his own thoughts that he doesn’t notice the two boys tugging at his shirt. He looks down at their command.
“Hey Mister! Look here! Do you want to play with us? Just one game?”
“There are five girls,” The other boy pouts. “And only three of us boys. We’d lose for sure, those girls are monsters.”
Jongin laughs as he crouches down to smile nervously at the kids. “I’d love to play, but I have to -”
Then he stops, because he suddenly remembers what Baekhyun had told him.
It’s Kai’s Day.
Jongin looks back at the boy’s expectant face, noses and cheeks red from the cold wind. He bends down to make his own snowball, deft hands quickly turning the clump of snow into an almost-perfect sphere. He gives the boys a thumbs-up. “I’d love to play.”
÷
Hey,
Don’t laugh. Sorry for writing so suddenly, but don’t laugh even if what I say might sound weird, because I’ve never written a letter to anyone before. There’s only so much we can fit into half-hour conversations, and Junmyeon figured the rest of it I can put on paper, instead of bottling it up all the time.
Until now, I’ve been thinking that I didn’t care about what happened to anyone; but specifically rich people like you, who had everything in the world that you can just get on with life without another thought. So I’ve been living my life like this, thinking that even if I died now, I wouldn’t have any regrets. But I was wrong.
No matter how happy they seem, the degree varies, but everyone has their own pain that they carry. And sometimes someone’s pain might seem small in comparison to others, but they hurt just as much.
I met you, and I realised for the first time that even though your situation isn’t the same, you’re still a person. You’re not a mannequin encrusted with jewels made to parade around. When you asked me to speak to you without bias, I was actually really surprised. Because up until then, I’d never met anyone who looked at me so earnestly, and there was never anyone who really paid attention to what I said. I realised that I’m still right here, that I’m still alive. In that moment, I was happy.
Maybe it’s hard to understand. I don’t expect you to. It would be unfair otherwise.
It’s a mouthful, but it would’ve filled in a 30-minute session including all the interruptions you would’ve made.
- Baekhyun
He stares at the letter he had painstakingly written, and against his better judgement he folds it, puts it in the addressed envelope and seals it.
Baekhyun wishes he could tear it instead.
÷
On other Sunday mornings, Jongin would lie in bed until past noon, curled up between the sheets wishing that the hours would go faster or that sleep would whisk him away to unconsciousness again. He’d probably have a few bottles strewn around the room (all empty) and maybe some colourful pills spilled on his bedside table, along with empty cigarette packets lying beside full bins.
But this particular Sunday morning he’s sitting at his desk with his eyebrows furrowed. His floor is clean of any mess, his bedside table occupied with neat stacks of books and his bin has been emptied out. Even his bed has been made. He hadn’t slept a wink the night before, and it was all because of that; the letter he had received.
At first, he couldn’t sleep because of the excitement; the thought of Baekhyun writing a letter to him was inconceivable. All his life, the only form of communication Jongin was accustomed to were cold, harsh directions that were meant to criticise. A letter, to him, is something fragile and thoughtful, because the person had taken time to handwrite each letter, each word, and each paragraph.
Then the thought of what he should do in return had kept him awake until now. What Baekhyun had written in the letter - it must not have been easy for him to say. Jongin wants to do the same. He wants to challenge himself.
It’s easy to think of what he can’t do. What’s hard is trying to think of what Baekhyun would appreciate. Jongin finds himself struggling, and with a heavy heart he wonders if four Thursdays spent with each other wasn’t enough for him to get to know Baekhyun properly.
When he grabs a notebook and a pen, however, he’s reminded of what Baekhyun loves most. It’s a crazy thought, but what has Jongin got to lose by being a little crazier than he is already?
÷
“Jongin, are you drawing?”
Jongin looks up from his sketchbook at two of his co-workers, Luhan and Sehun, who wear cheeky grins on their faces.
“Show us!”
Sehun makes a swat at his notebook that Jongin neatly avoids. “I’ve only just started, it looks like shit.”
“Everyone’s shit when they first start.” Sehun reassures hastily. “Just let us see it.”
Regretfully, Jongin flips his sketchbook in the direction of the two. It only takes them two seconds to start guffawing and then laughing uncontrollably. Jongin sighs. He knew he’d regret this.
“I thought you were kidding when you said it looks like shit. You’re more honest than you look, Kim Jongin.” Luhan wipes a tear from his eye.
“My stomach hurts oh my god it actually looks like a pile of crap!”
Jongin buries his face in his hands. “Can you just give me advice?”
“Neither of us are artists, but we’d kindly suggest you try drawing whatever you’re trying to draw as it is.”
“I’m trying!”
“We know.” Luhan pats his shoulder. “You should show us everything, though. It’ll really calm you down, and maybe we can help a bit.”
“Thanks. For caring about it.”
“You know, you’ve gotten pretty friendly lately.” Sehun smiles.
“Huh?”
“How do I say this,” Luhan rubs the back of his neck. “Until a while ago, you had this ’stay away from me’ vibe.”
“Yeah. And now it’s gone. Your overall mood’s changed, right?”
“We’re glad it did!” Luhan slow-claps. “We were afraid you’d burn down the whole building one day with just your glare!”
The pair fall into laughter again, and this time Jongin can’t help but join in.
“When you’re drawing, don’t just draw whatever you think it should look like. The end result will look distorted.” Luhan points at Jongin’s subject outside the window. “Look at every line, and draw them as they are. If you take it line by line, it’ll turn out decent I’m sure.”
“We’ll leave you to it, then. See you around, Jongin.”
Jongin lifts a hand up to wave before turning back to look out the window.
÷
“Do you sometimes make people dislike you on purpose?”
Jongin frowns at the question. “I thought the answer would be pretty obvious.”
“I guess. But I didn’t think you’d be the type to know the other alternative - how rejection would hurt the other person more.”
“Only a douchebag would be so oblivious.”
Jongin grips his bag tighter. They haven’t spoken about Baekhyun’s letter, nor has Jongin given him the drawing he’d worked so hard on for the past four days. On a second thought, he wishes he was smart enough to send it prior to his visit, just so he could avoid any awkward situations that might follow.
“Is it in you to hurt yourself rather than hurting others?” Baekhyun asks.
“Isn’t it in you too?”
Jongin’s being a little stingy, but Baekhyun doesn’t seem affected by it. “I have my reasons as well.”
“What is it?”
“When I apologised to the victim’s relative, she said I should give up a part of my body if I was sincere enough. So I thought why not give her my whole life? Suicide’s just a fast forward button since I’ll die soon, anyway.”
Jongin hates it. Hates the thought of not seeing Baekhyun anymore, Baekhyun with eyes that are too bright for the walls locking him in, Baekhyun who has his way with words. Baekhyun, who had somehow unlocked the way to his heart that he himself had forgotten how to open up.
He shakes his head. Thought processes have been getting really weird lately.
“Your letter,” Jongin finally musters up enough courage to address it. “Th-thank you.”
“That? Oh.” Baekhyun laughs, his voice tinged with nervousness. “I really wanted to rip it, but I spent a while on that so I thought screw it, might as well just send it to you.”
Jongin smiles at his light-hearted comments. “And I’m really glad you did. I wanted to write back, but I…I’m not very good with words. From our talks, you seemed to be paying a lot of attention to how things look outside. So I wanted to draw it. To show you.”
Baekhyun’s voice turns quiet. “Really?”
“But don’t get your hopes up! I’m really bad.”
Craning his neck, Baekhyun points his chin at Jongin’s bag. “Is that the sketchbook?”
Damn.
“I want to see it.”
“I haven’t gotten it quite right though, so give me a bit more time and -“
“Nope.” Baekhyun shakes his head. “If I die tomorrow, I’d regret it.”
Even through the glass Jongin can see Baekhyun’s smile faltering, and Jongin’s not sure if Baekhyun is trying to guilt-trip him or saying the truth, but whatever it is it’s working. He takes the sketchbook out.
“I didn’t laugh at your letter. So don’t laugh at this.”
Jongin holds the sketchbook up to hide his face, careful not to press the page onto the glass lest the colours smudge together. He peeks out and sees Baekhyun grinning from ear to ear.
“Hey, that’s pretty good.”
Jongin’s lets out a relieved sigh. “Really?”
“Yeah. Especially the colours on the cookies. You really got the colours right.”
Jongin leans in closer, thinking he’d heard it wrong. “Cookies?”
“Yeah. It’s some freshly baked cookies that have been bitten off, right?”
Jongin blushes furiously, eye downcast. “It’s…They’re leaves…”
Baekhyun’s eyes widen a little in shock, and he fumbles with his handcuffs. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. That’s right,” He looks at Jongin in the eyes. “They’re leaves.”
“Yeah. When I was outside, there was one tree that still has its leaves on it. It was weird considering it’s winter already, and then I remembered what you said about leaves having their own sound, so I tried to listen but I guess my ears weren’t’ -”
At Baekhyun’s unrelenting stare, Jongin stops. “I’m sorry. I tend to blabber.”
“No, just. Continue. I’d like to hear about it.”
The smile Baekhyun sends Jongin from across the barrier reminds him of another smile. Unguarded, oblivious and completely innocent. It reminded Jongin of the picture in the article.
“Why?” Jongin asked before he could catch himself. “Why did you kill them?”
In an instant, Baekhyun’s smile disappears behind his thinly pressed lips.
“I’m sorry for asking so suddenly but I’ve always wanted to know. Because for me, no matter how much you hate someone and want to kill them, in the end your fear makes you hesitate.” The words seem to spill out of Jongin, and he’s just hoping, praying that his curiosity doesn’t let him down. “To harbour such great hatred for people you don’t even know…”
“What’s that?” Baekhyun suddenly asks, pointing at a piece of paper sticking out of Jongin’s sketchbook.
“This?” Jongin laughs nervously. “It’s just something stupid my co-workers drew for me.”
He opens it up, and in it is a cartoon drawing of Jongin in what seems to be a white suit, a blue handkerchief peeking out from his breast pocket. He’s standing proudly with a happy smile on his face.
“It looks stupid, I know.”
Baekhyun’s face was in profile, but then he turns and smiles at Jongin and his breath catches. And Jongin wonders if this is how it feels like to be beautiful.
“Jongin, you look like a groom.”
“We were talking about future weddings, so…”
“Someday you’ll wear this, huh.”
Jongin folds the paper, laughing bitterly. “I won’t. Who’d marry someone like me?”
“I wish I could see it, one day.”
When Baekhyun says it, he looks so sincere but crestfallen at the same time that Jongin has to furiously blink back the tears that threaten to spill out of his eyes. Baekhyun gives him another smile, and Jongin wonders why someone so delicate, who can put all his insecurities to sleep and starve all his fears, can live in terror all his life.
Instead, he forces back the tears and says, “Well, you’ll have to cut that hair first to be able to see me properly, won’t you?”
Baekhyun’s laugh is the best sound he has ever heard.
÷
“He always avoids it. Whenever I talk about his crimes. The more I talk to him, the more I wonder if he killed all those people for no reason.”
“People are not always bad. You and him, both of you can be good sometimes, and bad sometimes as well, right?”
Junmyeon opens the door, and Jongin wraps his coat tighter around himself. The prison feels warmer than the freedom outside.
÷
Jongin,
How are your drawings? I really think you have the potential - you just have to keep going. I’d like to see them again next time we meet. Don’t give up!
Anyway. Short letter today. Haven’t had much room to think these past few days. My mind’s been occupied by something else lately.
- Baekhyun
÷
“Sorry it’s all a little sudden,” Junmyeon laughs lightly. “Baekhyun didn’t give us prior notice, so we weren’t able to contact you earlier.”
Jongin finds himself smiling along, the action still foreign to the muscles in his cheeks, but not at all unpleasant. “It’s fine, really. I’d…actually like it if our visiting time is extended. Or made more frequent, you know.” Jongin bites his lip. “I feel like squeezing as much time with him as possible would be good for…for…”
“For both of you?” Junmyeon nods. “I agree. I’ve asked the officials about it, but so far I haven’t had any response. Once it’s confirmed, I’ll definitely let you know.”
Jongin sighs in relief. “Thank you, Junmyeon. But why am I here again?”
“Oh, yeah. Baekhyun asked for a haircut a couple of days ago.” At Jongin’s confused face, Junmyeon shrugs. “Random, I know.”
“But why did you call me? Why didn’t you get a proper stylist to do it?”
“The last time we called someone in, Baekhyun grabbed the scissors and tried to kill himself with it.”
Jongin draws a sharp breath.
“So we decided it’s best that we called in someone he knows well.”
“Why did he ask for a haircut all of a sudden?”
Junmyeon’s cheeks are tinged with pink, and Jongin can’t tell if it’s from embarrassment or happiness, because his lips are stretched into a wide smile.
“He told me it’s because he wanted to see you better.”
÷
It’s not a secret that Jongin had never given anyone a haircut before, as his hands shake so much that Junmyeon has to step in and help him out. But once he regains his composure and starts snipping away at dark locks of hair, Junmyeon deems it appropriate for him to slink outside and give the two some space, if Jongin’s incredibly focused face is any indication.
It’s never stifling, being silent with Baekhyun. In fact, the lack of speech between them encourages Baekhyun to do something he hasn’t done in a long time - he starts singing. Not completely unrestrained, opera-style singing, but subtle humming, lips still tightly pursed and eyes closed, so gentle Jongin would probably have missed it if he hadn’t stopped cutting for a second to listen.
“You’re…what are you singing to?”
Baekhyun lifts his head up, his smile lazy and a little nostalgic. “One of my favourite pieces. Fughetta No.4 by Schumann.”
“Do you think you still remember how to play it?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never touched the piano in the longest time.” Baekhyun looks down as Jongin resumes cutting. “My hands probably don’t deserve to touch it, anyway.”
“Don’t say that.” Jongin retaliates a little too forcefully.
Baekhyun shakes his head, stopping when Jongin whispers out a hold still and eliciting a laugh out of him. After a while, he asks slowly, “Remember when you asked me why I killed those people?”
Jongin doesn’t answer, figuring that Baekhyun’s question is a rhetorical one.
“Sorry I pushed it away. I know I promised to talk to you honestly, but I - I didn’t know how to answer it.”
“It’s fine,” Jongin interrupts. “I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”
“No. But I do want to tell you, because you’ve told me things about yourself. It’s just…I hope you’re prepared. I don’t want anything to change after this.”
“Never.”
Baekhyun inhales for the longest time, until his chest hurts and his head is light with oxygen. “Okay.”
÷
Something about the rain that day casts the afternoon as an odd one, its torrential downpour an anomaly between its bright and windy counterparts. Hunched shoulders run around under their umbrellas, and they spare no glances at the occasional odd souls giving their eyes to the storm.
Baekhyun is one of those odd souls, standing in the rain under a dinky roof of the station’s general store, so close to the edge that the drops of rain hit his nose. It’s been a while since he’s had such freedom. Under the rain, he feels as if the water can wash away all memories, every horrifying scene that keeps replaying in his head, over and over again.
Last night, he had stepped into a whorehouse. Last night, less than 24 hours ago. Baekhyun couldn’t believe himself either, that he would turn to such an alternative. But he had no choice. Having been on the run for nearly half his life proves to be no easy task, more so after losing his job at the dodgy bar his seemingly always-drunken friend runs. He’d been arrested by the police because of some drug-selling scandal, and the club had shut down soon after, leaving Baekhyun with nowhere to go.
He’d gone to the whorehouse in an act of desperation, after an intoxicated old man had thrown himself on Baekhyun as he walked out of the bar. He had slurred some profanities at him, before looking up at Baekhyun’s face and purring. He said Baekhyun had a nice face. A pretty face, one the men would like. He gave him a card with an address on it, before walking away and patting his ass. Baekhyun had felt conflicted, before finally giving in.
The minute he stepped inside, he realised why he had stayed away from the idea of prostitution in the first place. The place reeked of cigarettes and alcohol - nothing Baekhyun is unaccustomed to. But it also had underlying odours of impatience, lust and sex. He had tried to ignore the stares the men in the room gave him, as if they had wanted to ravish him right on the spot. Baekhyun turned away and was about to ask someone at the front desk for directions when a girl had burst through the doors with a scream. Baekhyun had frozen on the spot.
She had bedsheets wrapped haphazardly around her tiny form, and she clutched the frames of the door as if her legs would give out if she moved an inch. Her breathing was ragged, and her whole body shook, but what Baekhyun was drawn into was the splotches of red on the yellowish-white sheets. And the trails of crimson down her face, across her lips, and down to her neck, disappearing underneath the sheets she’s holding across her chest.
All of a sudden, Baekhyun was reminded of himself so many years ago, running out onto the stage basked in his own blood. And just like the girl, he had no one to save him, to grab him and run away from trouble.
From behind the girl, he could see a man slamming the door open, turning his head left and right before locking his eyes on his target. Baekhyun frowned, thinking he looked familiar, before making his mind up right there and then.
He grabbed the girl’s hand, and started to run.
Baekhyun had not wanted to learn the girl’s name. He thought things without names hurt less. He simply asked, after the girl had washed herself in a public toilet and they had made do with the bedsheet as attire, if she had a family. When she shook her head no, eyes still red from crying, Baekhyun had decided to take her to the hospital. She said she had money from her previous client. She can take care of the bills, and she can start again from scratch. Feeling guilty, Baekhyun had apologised, explaining his own predicament.
Instead the girl had told him, “You freed me. And that’s more than enough.”
She had planted a chaste kiss on his cheek, nothing more than a gesture of thanks because in a world like theirs, words are emptier than actions. Baekhyun had seen her off at a hospital and, after a lot of waving, disappeared into the night.
Less than 24 hours ago.
Baekhyun walks away from the store, throwing his empty noodle cup in the bin along the way. He sprints through the rain to the train station, thinking he might as well kill time there.
Shaking the rain out of his hair, he sinks into a bench and watches people pass by and stop, waiting as seconds tick by for the trains that are never a minute late. Baekhyun observes the way they stand, whether they care to look up from the devices in their hands to greet the people beside them or whether they prefer to alienate everyone else. Seems to be the latter, until he spots a mother and her son waving at him from a distance, the little boy tugging at an umbrella hanging from the mother’s arm in excitement. The small gesture takes Baekhyun by surprise, and he has to force his arm up to wave back at the little boy, who laughs delightedly in return. It makes Baekhyun smiles.
He stands up to go to the bathroom when he feels his wrist being grabbed on to, instantly freezing him on the spot, too scared to even turn his head.
Before Baekhyun can say anything, the man laughs, his voice raspy and very, very familiar. His eyes widen as he starts to recall the voice.
“Long time no see, Piano Prodigy Baekhyun.” He mocks. “Where have you been running off to, then?”
Baekhyun tries to wrench his wrist away, but the man’s grip is brutally strong.
“You should’ve finished the girl off for me.”
His former piano instructor’s face looms into view, his grin maniacal and his eyes so dark they look soulless. He cackles, and strides away, leaving Baekhyun’s knees weak, his head spinning, and his heart incredibly angry.
His piano instructor, who had tortured him emotionally and physically, is still alive. His piano instructor, who had taken the beauty of piano and music and stripped it away from Baekhyun’s very being, had done the same to an innocent girl’s life - instead of reflecting to himself, he had gone and repeated what he had done eight years ago to another innocent soul, and is reveling in the misery he had caused.
And suddenly Baekhyun snaps.
He spots an umbrella nearby, and yanks it away from the owner’s hand. His eyes lock only to one target - the figure steadily escaping. But Baekhyun is faster, stealthier, and the second his hand’s got a grip on the man’s collar the man is on the ground, Baekhyun standing over him and driving the umbrella into his neck again and again. Until Baekhyun sees nothing but an empty shell of a man who deserves no other death than this one.
As Baekhyun stares at the limp body, ignoring the screams of people, he wonders if someday he’ll die like that, too. Because when he looks up, he realises who the umbrella belongs to, and where the owners are.
Baekhyun screams, and could only watch as the train’s frantic honking and blinding lights shine on the figure of the mother and her son, hunched in the tracks as if someone had pushed them there.
Accidentally.
÷
By the time Baekhyun finishes his story, the scissors are shaking in trembling fingers, hovering above the strand of hair that was supposed to be cut off a long time ago. Jongin’s tears fall in successions on Baekhyun’s head, making him turn and let out a small squeak in panic.
“No, Jongin, don’t.” Baekhyun stands, throwing away every regulation, every law and every restriction placed on him and wrapping his arms around Jongin’s figure. Jongin’s sobs intensify. “Don’t cry.”
“But you - your killings. They were justified.”
“Justified or not, I still murdered three people. Two of them completely innocent. When the relative of the mother and her child demanded that I be killed, I realised I couldn’t find enough of a reason to live to make me lie and say that I regretted killing him. I was the one who chose the punishment of ‘death’ in a way. Because I understood that relative’s feelings very well.”
Jongin sobs into Baekhyun’s shirt, the patch where his face is buried slowly dampening from his tears. Tentatively, and ever so carefully, as if Jongin is a glass doll about to be broken, Baekhyun runs a hand through his hair, making noises of reassurance.
“I have no complaints about being here in prison.” He whispers into his hair. Jongin is a little taller than him, Baekhyun realises, but Jongin is also defenseless, confused and scared. “If I’m gone, the family of the victims may be able to live a little better. I have no regrets.”
Jongin simply clutches his shirt, trying to suppress his cries, only the tears won’t stop falling and even in the darkness he can see Baekhyun - mistreated, more pain and suffering hiding behind the pain he shows on his face. He wants to say something to refute Baekhyun - tell him he’s wrong, tell him what’s really in his mind, but all that comes out are cries of anguish and Baekhyun brings another hand up to his hair.
“No regrets.” Baekhyun says more to himself than Jongin. “No regrets. No regrets. No regrets.”
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