[18] Bonaparte's Wife [Nichkhun/Wooyoung]
Fic Title: Bonaparte's Wife
Main Character: Wooyoung
Pairing: Nichkhun/Wooyoung, Chansung/Jinwoon (slight)
Warnings: A little bit of harassment
Word Count: 7,571
Author's Note: A (much more thorough) continuation of this will be posted after the reveal!
Prompt 1: “Yeah I’ve been watching me go for it must be years
Watching me get slow, I watch me disappear
And one day, yeah I know, I won’t come back at all...
And always over and over in his ordinary eyes
I’m watching me fall” - The Cure (Watching Me Fall)
Prompt 2: http://i61.tinypic.com/9a8toz.jpg
Prompt 3: Circular Motions
It was a street cafe. The day was hot, like Italy normally was in the heat of the summer. The street was bustling about with rushing people, rickety bikes, and honking cars. If someone stared at the tar of the road long enough, they could see the rippling heat waves rising and dissipating, as if the air was bending and dancing in the scorching sunrays. I liked staring at mirages. It was like a parallel universe wanted breach the barriers we had in our world, and it only happened on hot days when the barriers were fragile. So the air would bend at the pressure like as if a bubble was about to burst. Chansung always told me that I was really thoughtful about our surroundings but I just never said it aloud-- and maybe it would have done some great things if I voiced the things I had in my head. But that made me angry because my thoughts were mine, and I wanted them to stay hidden inside. When something wasn’t meant for the outside, then it will never be. So I stuck my tongue out at him. I mean, what could managers know about singers? That’s right, nothing.
Chansung looked up from his plate, placing his fork and spoon on the side and dabbing the corner of his mouth with a napkin. “Wooyoung?” he said.
I hummed back, but I didn’t really want to face him, not with the sunlight blinding my sight. So I stared into my plate. That’s when I felt the heat of the sun eating the nape of my neck, and when I tried to shade myself with my hand, I could still feel the heat seeping through. I should have put sunscreen.
“Wooyoung, why were you sticking your tongue out at me?” Chansung asked. I only shrugged, it was too hot to explain anything at that point. It was too hot to even eat, but with my manager Hwang and all, I had to follow his lead and if he wanted to go out and eat, then I had to go with him. Sometimes I wondered who was the manager in this relationship and maybe he knew what I was thinking because he smiled and said, “I’m the better manager here.”
I nodded lazily, because I didn’t really feel like I wanted to argue with him. On a normal basis, I would have snapped something back at him in return, but today was just not the day. Maybe that was the other reason why Chansung took me out to eat with him. He knew I wouldn’t be able to say anything in the heat, it only made me tired and dazed out. And then I had the tendency to just stare out into space until I felt my eyelids were heavy and drooping and he would have to drag me back to the stuffy apartment and tell me to get some sleep. How the hell would I get some sleep if I was stressed?
It had been like this for a week since we arrived in Italy. Every night he was about to go to sleep, he’d notice I was far from the bedroom as possible and he’d ask, “Aren’t you going to go to sleep? You need some rest.” But I often ignored it because he didn’t understand the stress I was under, it felt like I was balancing a shit-load of boulders on my shoulders and it hurt so much that I had to lay down on the dusty floor to relax myself. So no, as drowsy as I was, I wasn’t going to let Chansung drag me back to the apartment to go to sleep. Sleep wasn’t good for me.
Chansung must have been talking to me, probably giving me a reprimanding lecture about my behavior or something along the lines of that, but it’s not like I ever paid attention anyway. I never really paid attention unless the case was serious (that has only happened once) or if I was bored out of my mind and thought he could entertain me with his useless words. I love Chansung, I really do, but there came a point where the manager side of him was very much like my parents’ nagging and tugging, and I desperately wanted to escape that. But anyway, Chansung was blabbering and I could hear his voice even when I tried to tune it out. Only then did it occur to me that he was talking about something important because he stopped in mid-sentence and was glaring at me with glassy eyes. Then I saw him lean sideways, and his eyesight wasn’t focused on me anymore, but something behind me. I wanted to turn around and look, but I didn’t have to, since the thing Chansung had been staring at came right towards us from behind.
I heard screams and shouts, and then a hand, a warm hand, held the nape of my neck momentarily before slipping away. I crouched forward out of instinct, and the next thing I saw was a lean, well-dressed man falling (leaping?) right on top of our table. The tabletop split in half on impact, with the man thudding, our dishes clattering, to the ground. I think Chansung yelled, “What the hell?!” and I’m sure I yelled too, but I couldn’t remember. I was just staring wildly at this heaving man, who seemed to have gotten himself up, brushing away the debris and food that caught his clothing. He mumbled something with indistinct gibberish (perhaps Italian), but the moment he glanced up at me, in my direction, everything around me turned mute. He didn’t look Italian at all and I couldn’t see anything but him and his eyes. There were oceans in them that sucked me in and I couldn’t let go of the sight. He was staring back at me, so maybe we were having a moment. Of what? I wanted to say I wasn’t sure, but rather, something else answered it for me, like a gut feeling. Especially the way the sun caught the brown of his eyes, they shimmered like delicious pools of caramel. It was peculiar to admit, but I was drawn to the warm glow.
I was staring intently at him when he tried to take a step closer to me, but he stumbled over a bowl and let out a garbled gasp. His fall startled me. I wanted to get up and help him, but I stayed frozen in my chair, gaping at the scene unfolding before my eyes. When he tried to stand I realized he was literally at my feet, so he placed his hands on my knees for support. I’m not sure why he was struggling, but then a flying arm came clawing near my face and I yelped. What was he doing?! Was he trying to grab my face?! I was hyperventilating, and not only that, my necklace chain was taut around my neck-- his fingers had clung onto it.
“H-Hey--” I managed to blurt out. While he sloppily rose up to his feet, he tugged on the chain until it snapped, and there was a stinging pain on the back of my neck. What the hell?! I yelled again.
He licked his lips, like as if he was about to tell me a secret, and a murmured, “Shhh” fluttered from his lips. Now he was leaning so close that he was moving himself over my lap. I could feel his warm breath against my neck, hotter than the sun, and then, to my shock, he straddled me. My heart was thundering away in my chest, in the back of my mind, and I wanted to push him away. But when I tried to move my arms, they wouldn’t budge? Since when were my arms behind me?! I felt the something clinch my wrists, and the more I kept tugging, the more I felt it dig into my skin. Oh god, no. I was panicking. Breathing hard. There was a stranger on my lap and my hands were handcuffed?!
I could feel the heat of his breath near my ear, while his right hand slid to my back, resting between my shoulder blades. He was trying to calm me with his hand there but that only made it worse. I wanted to tell him to get the hell away from me, but when my lips lifted open nothing came out. Nothing. His body heat was stifling, choking even, and I was beginning to feel so dizzy that I didn’t notice his left hand had traveled down my chest slowly and almost even... teasingly. Maybe that was his intention, but I was spinning out of my mind and there was a growing fear in my stomach that something bad could happen. I couldn’t list the possibilities because it was the touch of his that was overheating my sanity and I could even hear him lick his lips again.
“Tell me where you want to be touched,” he whispered huskily. Where he said those words, I could feel my ear and cheek burn scarlet, and then he moved away a little so our eyes could meet, so I could see his delighted smirk. His parted lips moistened. Then, oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, his hand fell over my crotch and I whimpered a little because the heat-- I don’t know, oh my god, help me. I squirmed a bit, suddenly his thighs squeezed the sides of my waist, his hand pressed harder into my lap and then, just when I thought I was going to faint, he rose to his feet. He snatched the snapback from my hair, and pulled it over his head in a lopsided manner, but not before giving me one last glance and a lick across the lips, and then breaking into a run.
I think I fainted.
* * *
It must have been years. It felt like it because of the way I was hovering in place, while watching things whir past me. My surroundings were floating objects, circling around me in an unfathomable blur and when I reached out to grab one of them, it vanished like sand between my fingers. I didn’t feel afraid but I felt dazed and really hot. In fact, it was exactly like that moment at the street cafe, I realized. Once I made that connection, all the objects disappeared-- except for two that orbited around me. One was my red snapback and the other was my golden locket.
When I frantically reached out for them, they would zip through my fingers or circle around my wrists for the fun of it, almost to mock at me. That made me angry. I started yelling, trying to jab my fingers in the air, hoping to catch them. After a while, I gave up and glared at those two objects while they floated circles around me, round and round and round. For the amusement of it, I decided I’d stare at one point in particular and watch those two objects miss or hit that point. I think they made two orbits in a minute. But when my heartbeat rose, they orbited around me faster, and then I got afraid. The more fear that was instilled in me, the faster the objects went around me.
“Help!” I screamed. “Chansung!” The blur around me streaked red and golden, until something caught my vision. A pair of eyes. That’s it. Just a pair of floating eyes. The same brown oceans that were sucking me in, except now, I wasn’t hovering in place anymore, I was falling towards those eyes, into it? Inside it? I shrieked and screamed. “Please, help me! Chansung-ah!”
My limbs were flailing, hoping to catch onto something, not to fall into the stranger’s eyes but they were so warm and irresistible and yet, all the more frightening. It was like the Cheshire cat, except the eyes came first and then the parted pink lips, and then the nose, the neck, the ears, and finally the whole face and I was falling right into him, while screaming and kicking.
Maybe I would have been okay with falling into him once, but what if I never came back? Go back where? Where was I even? And then, I was back in the chair by the street, but I looked around me, it was pure whiteness and nothing else. When I turned, that’s when the heat came back like a flood. He was there, that man. His arms around my neck, and he drew himself close, sitting himself on my lap with a benign smile. His lips lifted open, and I’m sure he said a string of words, but nothing that I could hear so I tried to read his lips. I yelled, “What?” and he kept on smiling and saying more things that I couldn’t understand. Why could he understand me and I couldn’t understand him?
“Show me,” I said, “Because I can’t hear you.” He moved both hands to my chest, and slid them down, where I started to feel nauseated. I didn’t like where this was going. “S-Stop,” I stuttered. He shook his head, like he was determined to show me and I instantly regretted asking him in the first place. “I need to go back, please,” I begged. I wasn’t sure where I needed to go, even the street where we were located didn’t seem right. But he seemed to comply, with a sad sorrowful smile on his face. It didn’t have the same warmth, so I searched him in the eyes, and-- I screamed like a banshee. I couldn’t even recognize the terrified crackling voice that came out of my mouth, but his eyes flickered grayish-blue and it was so cold. This wasn’t him. This wasn’t him at all.
“Tell me where... you want to be touched,” he said, in a robotic voice.
“No!” I bellowed. “Stay away from me!”
“Wooyoung, tell me--”
“No, no, no!” I pushed him away, and everything around me blackened, and I was falling, falling, falling--
I tumbled off the couch, heard a cringing rip of fabric somewhere, and then I hit the dusty floor with a dull thud. “Ouch,” I groaned. “Ouch,” I said, louder, hoping it would call some attention, but it didn’t seem to be working. “Ouchhhh!” I yelled. Damn it, where was Chansung? I didn’t want to get up myself, I wanted him to pick me up and put me on the couch again. It was still around the time of dusk, I assumed by the soft darkness in the room, and I figured Chansung was probably deep asleep. The only thing that relieved me was that it had been a dream, er, nightmare. But I kept telling myself I wasn’t really that afraid.
I wandered through the hallway, rubbing my red wrists at the memory of the handcuffs. I grumbled to myself about not wanting to get up and how this had been Chansung’s fault. He told me to go eat with him at the cafe and then that whole incident happened and then I had to go to sleep and-- I paused. I couldn’t remember anything that happened when I fainted. I certainly remembered too clearly what happened before Italy, and what happened in Italy before I fainted and now there was this black mysterious gap. “Chansung?” I called.
I headed to his room, and found it completely tidied. “Chansung-ah,” I weakly murmured. Where did he go, so early in the morning at 3am? I wished I could stand there long enough for Chansung to appear out of nowhere, but that was a childish notion. So I turned back to the kitchen, where I discovered a crinkled piece of paper on the counter, next to a small white plastic bottle. From what I could read on the paper in Chansung’s messy handwriting was something like, “Exhaustion. Fever. Emotional trauma?”
Me? I asked in disbelief. Exhaustion, I could understand. Fever would take me a while to absorb, but emotional trauma? I scoffed. Inconceivable. I was fine. The rest of Korea wasn’t because their Jang Wooyoung wasn’t the one they thought they knew, but I knew who I was and that was all that mattered. Sucked to be them, to not know who I really was. I placed the paper on the counter and picked up the pill bottle and shook it. Sounded poisonous. No chance in hell would I take these, I scowled, and I tossed it in the trash bin. I’ll stick with soup, dear Chansung.
But dear Chansung, I’m not fond of staying in the apartment by myself, especially after that whole incident... yesterday? I wondered how long I was out cold. I couldn’t even check my phone because Chansung kept it with him, so I wouldn’t see any incriminating news articles. I had the strongest urge, even found myself slipping my shoes on, to go outside and search for Chansung. But I figured out of all the places in Italy, perhaps our apartment would be safest. If something did happen, then I could... do smoke signals or something, since there weren’t any phones in the apartment. I sighed. Chansung didn’t plan this very well. I plopped myself onto the couch and tried to keep my eyes open, until my chin hit my chest and I dozed off.
* * *
“No, I said, we are going to search for my locket and hat!” I insisted. I was nagging Chansung, following him through the kitchen while he was cooking something for lunch. Cooking disaster probably.
“No,” Chansung replied, “We’re not going to do that.”
“Why not?” I asked. I was becoming more irritated and very impatient.
“It’s better if we just left it alone. It’s not that big of a deal.”
“Not that a big of a deal? What the hell, I got harassed and then my property was damaged, stolen, and that’s not a big deal? How the hell is that not a big deal?” I asked through my gritted teeth. “If we were in Korea, this would be the biggest deal in the news.”
“Yes,” Chansung acknowledged. “You’re right. But we’re not in Korea anymore because something else became too big of a deal and because,” Chansung sighed, “You should just forget about the locket and your hat.”
I ignored his statement about something else. “But that’s mine! How is that hard to understand? I want it back!”
“We can buy new ones.”
“No! I want that particular snapback and locket back. Right now.”
Chansung stopped his tracks, dropping the pan onto the counter and then he turned and glared at me. “You don’t get it, do you?” I shook my head slowly. “That locket is evidence, it’s the past with her, it has everything to do with that something else that we wanted to avoid and so, we don’t need it anymore. And as if I have to remind you, that’s also why we’re in Italy.”
“We?” I echoed back. “We don’t need it anymore?”
“Okay fine, more you than me, but just-- Wooyoung. Leave it behind.”
My lips twitched, in deliberation of what I was going to say. But as many thoughts bubbled into my mind, it came down to one word. “No.”
“Wooyoung--”
“I can make my own decisions about the things I own.”
“So you own her, is that why you did what you did? Is that why you betrayed your country?”
“I didn’t betray my country!” I shouted. “They-- they didn’t know who I was. They misunderstood me. They misinterpreted the situation.”
“How else were they going to view it?!” Chansung yelled back.
“I don’t know!” I shook my head and tried to calm down. “I don’t know. Maybe if they gave me a chance to explain--”
“Explain? Explain? Wooyoung, I told you. You can’t explain that at all, that’s why I told you not to get involved in the first place. But no. Do you ever listen to me? No, of course not. Now we’re stuck in Italy because you think Korea has misunderstood you. Maybe, you’ve misunderstood yourself!”
“Maybe not!” I screamed. I spun around and stormed out of the apartment with Chansung’s shouts in the background, calling me to stay. I could care less.
* * *
I had to admit I pissed off Chansung, which in turn, decided to slap me in the face with karma and now I was pissed myself. Did I ever mention how annoying Italian summer heat was? While roaming through town, I discovered I couldn’t really deal with the heat and also, what a dumb idiot I’ve been in the past two weeks, well, more like the past two years because of that whole involvement issue. When taken the wrong way, everything looked way too scandalous, I tell you, and then it spiraled downwards and the next thing I know, I’m handcuffed to a chair with a guy asking me where I want to be touched.
Fate or punishment? Let’s go with both.
Though really, the more I thought about it, the more it didn’t really bother me that some stranger-thief had gotten up close and personal. So I suppose I was leaning towards fate. In fact, it may have been just the thing I needed in all that stress. Just something absurd to wake me up from the world of depression and loneliness.
I missed her though, and I wished that weird encounter with that stranger didn’t have to result in my locket and hat being stolen. The locket reminded me of her, and the hat reminded me of Minjun, a close associate and friend. As for her, she was the person Chansung told me not to get involved with. But alas, look where I am now. In Italy. In nowhere town. In the streets. Looking for that stranger.
I learned very quickly that I couldn’t speak Italian or to its heat, so I kept asking if anyone spoke Korean. (English wasn’t going to help my case at all, though Chansung kept nagging me it would do me some good if I had learned it. Then he came to the conclusion that everything I didn’t do were the things actually good for me, and everything I did do were things probably wrong for me and for the rest of the world. As irritated as I was, I had to laugh because depressingly, he was right.) But anyhow, I knew the chances of finding someone who could speak Korean were very low, but surely Chansung couldn’t have come to this town without any planning?
After much complaining about the sweltering heat, I discovered I was right (or good for Chansung, I should compliment him more often) there was someone who could speak Korean. And maybe even better for Chansung’s planning, this guy was a baker. Better for me, the bakery had heavenly cooling fans.
“Not many Koreans around here, and certainly not as prone to attention like you,” the baker said with a bright grin as I entered shop. I went to the closest fan and followed it’s rotation while it circled around, and I sighed at the cool relief. But then I felt embarrassed, had everyone seen the whole incident yesterday? I laughed shyly, and moved away from the fan, brushing my damp sweaty hair out of my eyes.
“Thanks, I guess. It’s nice to find someone else, other than my manager, who can speak Korean,” I said. I watched him roll the dough with his fists and then he looked up.
“Really nice guy, your manager.” He had a secretive smile like something about Chansung was connected to this baker.
“Oh?” I answered, wondering how he could have known.
“We talked earlier this morning.”
Puzzle pieces came together and I figured it out. “Chansung was here at 3am?”
The baker laughed. “Yes, hungry and worried.”
“Oh,” I said again and nodded. I wondered what they could have talked about. Sometimes when Chansung saw the opportunity, he’d want to talk to anyone. But early mornings and hunger always made Chansung open up, not just to anyone, so this encounter with the baker and Chansung must have been special. Should I tell that to the baker? I could sense the affinity the baker had to Chansung, and I smiled. Lovebirds.
“I’m Jinwoon,” the baker said after awhile. I reached out to shake hands with him, which I realized was a really stupid idea because he laughed and wriggled his flour-dusted fingers.
“I’m--”
“I know who you are. Jang Wooyoung, right?” he asked. I simply nodded, though now I felt slightly jaded at the idea that Chansung may have talked about me and my mistakes in Korea. But the way that Jinwoon was acting seemed devoid of disgust or pity, only cordial friendliness, anything that a new visitor would have wanted. It occurred to me he must have been living in this small town for quite awhile, when I saw photos of him as a child in the very same background. If he had been here for some time, then he must have known the stranger-thief right? But before I asked the question, I mulled on it for a little while longer, because it struck me odd that Chansung or anyone else didn’t think of calling the police after that whole stranger-danger incident. Then again, neither did I, and my lack of emotion about the whole situation was a little unsettling.
“Do you know who that was...” I asked quietly. I didn’t want to sound overly needy or interested in the stranger. I just wanted my locket and hat back.
“Who?” Jinwoon asked. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, after placing a tray in the oven behind him.
“That guy...” I replied, staring at the floor, wanting to be vague. I also had the sudden urge of wanting to melt into the floor or the walls behind me, because I could feel Jinwoon staring hard at me.
“You mean Bonaparte?”
I looked up, with my face contorted in all confused directions. “Huh?” Jinwoon only laughed, like it was some kind of inside joke. That’s when I realized that not only had Jinwoon lived in this town for so long, but maybe he really knew everyone that lived here. I asked Jinwoon to repeat the name once more and after awhile, I figured it must have been a pseudonym, because who would have wanted live a life as Bonaparte?
“No, you don’t get it,” Jinwoon tried to explain. “You know Napoleon Bonaparte?”
“Sure,” I said, though not entirely genuinely. When I was a child I was more interested in singing and dancing, not studying Italian or French history.
“I’m not talking about what Napoleon Bonaparte did, I’m talking about how well known he is. You say his name and everyone knows him! So when that “stranger-thief,” as you call him, came walking into this town, he became so famous. Exactly like Napoleon Bonaparte! So he was deemed Bonaparte.”
I nodded slowly. A guy named for status and reputation. Well, I knew exactly how that felt.
“Well actually, not exactly,” Jinwoon continued. He rounded the corner of the counter and guided me to sit at a table with him. “There’s more to the story to why he’s called Bonaparte, but it’s best if you ask him.” The way Jinwoon talked about Bonaparte was almost like as if they were acquaintances or even friends perhaps.
“So... suppose I wanted to ask him, where could I find him?”
Jinwoon laughed. “No, you want to ask him where your stolen things are.”
My eyes widened. “How did you know?”
“Oh, that’s why everyone knows him. He’s notorious for it,” Jinwoon said in a low voice, like there was something spicy about it and he wiggled his eyebrows with a smirk. The more I paid attention to his behavior, the more I could find some similarities between him and Bonaparte. They must have been incredibly close friends, because I knew when friends were together long enough, their habits started to rub on each other.
“So? Isn’t it wrong to steal?” I asked flatly.
“Is it?” Jinwoon threw back the question at me.
“Well...” I hesitated. It was wrong, but if I were to base my judgement on sensation, then it didn’t feel wrong at all. That was particularly unsettling.
“You look conflicted,” Jinwoon said with a knowing smile. “Do you want to know why you don’t think it’s wrong?”
I nodded, I really wanted to know.
“It’s because you did something wrong and those stolen items were connected to it.”
“What?” I instinctively said, though inside, I felt a sickening drop and I didn’t like it when people knew every black past of me. Where did Bonaparte and Jinwoon get such information? Did Bonaparte tell Jinwoon? Was he a saesang fan? Now I really wanted to get the police, and the moment I made that decision in my mind, Jinwoon decided to tell me something shocking.
“Bonaparte is basically the police of this town.”
“What?!” I cried out. No wonder no one did anything when that whole incident happened yesterday! “But-- but, that’s not proper conduct,” I complained, “To touch me like that or to take my things! Isn’t there like a procedure or like-- I mean, why did he have to steal those things?! It’s not like they’re directly related to the scandal--”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Jinwoon held his hands up, in defense. “Butter-mouth, relax. No need to tell me more than you need to. You need to understand this is a small village town and everything here is old fashioned. The real police is a solo guy rocking in his chair out at the edge of town, guarding the border-line. He’s pretty much the grandpa of this place, good guy but nearly deaf and a century old. As for Bonaparte, he has the unofficial title of running things here. Sure, stealing is wrong,” Jinwoon shrugged his shoulders, “but he’s usually got a good reason for it. Besides we love Bonaparte. This town loves him, because he’s like our king. Our Robin Hood. Our Napoleon Bonaparte.”
“Why would you love a criminal?” I asked, still feeling crummy about the whole thing.
“Good question,” Jinwoon countered, “Why would I?” He leaned over the table to give me a hard stare, and I realized that I was pretty much a criminal too.
“Okay,” I said, backing away, and it was my turn to hold up my hands. “So I just want to know why he took my things. I want them back.”
Jinwoon hummed. “Right, no harm done.”
I watched Jinwoon get up from the table expectantly, but he wasn’t giving me an answer. “Are you going to tell me?” I asked.
“No,” Jinwoon said. I squinted at him, I didn’t like it when people played games with me. I was about to say something snarky in return when he interrupted me. “Because I don’t know where you could find Bonaparte.”
* * *
I think Jinwoon had been lying. He kept smiling and sneering behind everything, much like Bonaparte, and that had to be a sign of close companionship; which meant, Jinwoon knew exactly where to find him. I pestered Jinwoon enough to give me a “maybe” location but as I started to head towards the beach, I was beginning to think this was entirely planned. Exactly as that incident had been planned. In fact, if I was really delirious from the heat, I could have said that Chansung knew about the plan too, and pretended to not know about it. Pretty much, I felt like the whole world had turned its back on me and I was all alone with the scandalous crime I’ve committed. Chansung had said coming to Italy was the whole avoiding tactic, but it seemed to me that I couldn’t just run away from my problems. It would take a very blind person to do that, and I’m so sure blind people knew it better than that. So everything I did, everywhere I went, I was reminded of the mistakes that I made in Korea. Maybe Bonaparte knew how to fix this. But with that conclusion, I realized how stupid I was to be putting all my trust into the hands of a complete stranger.
He’s a complete stranger-thief, for godsakes!
The more time I spent under the sun, the more I felt dizzy. Well, Jinwoon did warn me that the beach would be deserted at around 1pm because it was scorching hot for anyone to take a stroll, or be as crazy as me and search for Bonaparte. I thought the sand was turning red and then when I looked into the ocean, it almost seemed to call to me to take a drink from it. But when I stepped in it, the water was lukewarm and my instincts knew better than to drink it. Heat waves rose from the sand, and I had to squint real hard until I could feel tears and sweat dripping down my cheeks. I tried to shade my eyes with my hands, but that didn’t do so well, until I gasped because I saw something moving in the distance. I quickened my pace, or tried to, because my legs seemed to be more sluggish and jelly-like when I tried to will them to go faster and then I was stumbling into the burning pebbles. It stung like hot needles.
It was a matter of forever when I finally approached... my hat! Even in the red sand (I swear to God it was red), I could spot my red snapback. Surprise, surprise, it was the stranger-thief wearing it. I came closer, taking softer steps so as to not make so much noise, and I saw him laying on his stomach atop a large white towel, shirtless and wearing white swimming shorts. He was tanning. At the hottest time of the day, for a heatstroke, obviously. And of course, that’s what stranger-thieves do on a regular basis. Of course.
Okay, Jang Wooyoung, here’s the plan, I was telling myself. I’m going to take off my flip-flops, tip-toe over in the lava-hot sand and-- I shook my head. No, I’ll keep my flip-flops on, tip-toe as quietly as possible, lean over, snatch the hat, and make a run for it! Good plan, I nodded to myself and took a deep breath for composure and--
“Hey.”
I looked down, and Bonaparte was on his back, staring up at me with a smug face. I cursed at myself, I should have come up with my plan while walking here. Just to show it off, he pulled at the hat closer to his face and flashed a smile. I gave him a glare, but the longer I stood still, the more I felt like the ground beneath my feet was spinning around, in blurry overlapping circles.
“Sit down with me,” he said, patting to the space next to him, on the towel. I glared at him, unflinching, unblinking, and more tears slid down my cheeks. He seemed to grimace. But then, it occurred to me, he had said the statement in Korean-- Jinwoon didn’t tell me that Bonaparte could speak Korean. I was taken aback, I knew he wasn’t Italian, but speaking Korean that was all the more suspicious so-- my train of thought was interrupted. I heard him grunt as he sat up, and now he was really looking at me. He turned the cap sideways, which was no benefit for him, the sunrays would blind his eyes; until I realized he wasn’t doing that for himself, he was doing it to distract me.
I was caught in his eyes again, and suddenly I was falling, falling, falling, just like my dream. He had grabbed my hold of my wrist and yanked me towards him when I had least expected it. I don’t think he realized I was nearly spineless in the heat, so instead of sitting down next to him as he thought a little yank would do, I fell right on top of him. Our chests touched. I was afraid he’d hear my heart racing, maybe his was racing too. I swallowed thickly and I was struck by how fragile he looked when I was up close to him, how his soft lips quivered and his eyes were glassy, shimmery brown.
“Um,” he murmured, moving his hands up my biceps and stopping at my shoulders. “It’s really hot.”
I stared at him bewilderedly, until the words processed in my brain and I swore I heard him say-- I gasped, let out an embarrassed cry, and bolted up from his gentle touch. Unfortunately, I had gotten up wobbly, so my legs completely gave out, and I was falling backwards, with a yell. It seemed dramatically slow for some odd reason, but I was convinced I was going to fall in the hot sand, until he caught my wrist again and I heard a painful crack and I yelled louder, until he got up to secure his hold around me. It was almost like a hug. I was panting nervously into his shoulder and then I heard a sweet chortle. I moved away to look at him, and I realized he was the source of the soft giggles, dumbfounded at how an angelic sound could be coming from his lips. I slapped him across the face.
He stopped abruptly, letting go, and then I did land in the sand. I felt a shot of pain coming from my wrist, and I let out a muffled, “Ow,” while trying to bite it down. I didn’t want to seem like I needed help.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and he crouched down beside me, and held my wrist to look at it. He tried bending my wrist back, and I looked away and let out a sharp exhale. “Does it hurt?” he asked softly.
I turned back quickly and glared at him. “Yes, it hurts. It hurts that you stole my snapback and my locket,” I said angrily.
His expression changed for a moment, confused about what I was referring to, and then he frowned. “I’m not talking about that, I’m talking about your wrist--”
“Give me back my snapback and locket and no one has to worry about a thing.”
“But doesn’t this concern you?” he asked, and he forcefully bent my wrist and I yelped. I was about to slap him again, but he slipped his arm underneath my knees and put the other arm around my back and lifted me.
“HEY!” I yelled. I flung my arms and legs about, but I realized he was moving me a few feet to the towel, away from the burning sand. He gently placed me there and sat front of me, crossing his legs.
“Okay, let’s talk,” he said.
“Talk?” I scoffed. “I made it clear. I just want my items back, then we can go our separate ways and not have to be an irritation to each other.”
“I don’t think you’re an irritation to me,” he said quietly, ducking his head. I was about to say something in return, but his tone struck me with a sudden sincerity.
“Huh?” I said. He looked up again, lifting open his lips but I interrupted him. “You dropped your formailites. We’re not friends.”
“You’re younger than me,” he said with a smile.
“How would you know--”
“Fine, I’ll consider it,” he said.
“Consider? Consider what?”
“Giving this back to you,” he said, touching the rim of my snapback.
“And my locket?” I questioned. That seemed to have him pondering for a bit, but I looked at his neck and my locket wasn’t there. I started to get a little anxious about where it was.
“Actually,” he began, “I change my mind.”
“What?” I asked through my gritted teeth.
He hummed and shrugged, having a pleased smile on his face. “How far are you willing to go for your hat and locket?”
I shut my eyes and told myself to relax. “They are... very valuable to me and cannot be replaced. Ever.”
“So does that mean very far?” he asked.
My eyelids shot open and I found myself yelling at him. “Yes! I’ll do anything to get them back!”
“Really?”
“Yes!” I cried out, becoming more and more frustrated and impatient.
Some things happened really fast. Especially the things that I knew I would regret later, except this time, I was regretting everything the moment he gave me a devilish smirk. I had forgotten who I was up against; this was the guy, who at first encounter, wanted to know where he should touch me. Now, he was on my lap again, because he forced my legs down and just to keep me steady, he circled his legs around my waist to the back, and wrapped his arms around me. Before I could resist his hold, he whispered in my ear, “This is what you agreed with.”
“I did not,” I replied indignantly. But my voice was so pitifully weak, I felt so embarrassed to be in such close proximity. I wanted to push him away. But yet again, I was frozen in place and I couldn’t do a thing and even worse, there weren’t any handcuffs to stop me. I could feel the heat of his breath against my neck, almost as if he were breathing slowly and deliberately from my shoulder and up my neck to behind my ear, the most sensitive part that had me shaking.
“Shhh,” he whispered, “Relax.” I couldn’t, I am a normal human being, my heart was going to explode with uneven palpitations, I couldn’t breathe from his body heat, from the sun’s heat, or the sand’s heat. But he continued to whisper in my ear, and I couldn’t hear everything because I was becoming so dizzy, and I only caught him say, “Show me you’re really desperate.”
I shook my head and let out a whimper, I didn’t know how. Then he smiled, I could feel his smile against my ear, and he whispered something else. I heard it loud and clear this time, because my eyes widened in shock and I tried to move away, unsuccessfully. “N-No,” I stuttered.
“Say it,” he coaxed me. “Don’t you want your things back?”
I sighed embarrassedly and looked away from his fixated stare. He must have been staring at my cheeks, because I suddenly became self conscious of how flushed I felt. “Fine,” I said resignedly. I took a deep breath, and I could feel his eyes on me, waiting expectantly until I couldn’t bear with it anymore. “Un-Undress me...” I stuttered breathlessly. I felt like a needy idiot when I said it, but it didn’t stop his hands from moving to the collar of my shirt, and I swallowed nervously. “W-Wait, this wasn’t part of the deal--”
“You told me to undress you,” he answered delightfully.
“You told me to say that!” I cried.
“And you did, so I’m doing you a favor,” he whispered, leaning into my ear. I turned my head away, I had felt his moist lips brush against my ear. He reached the last buttons quickly, pushed the sleeves off my shoulders, and then he stared at my naked torso, and I blushed under his perusing gaze.
“S-Stop looking.”
But he didn’t, he continued to stare and take whatever delicious fantasy he wanted, and I couldn’t do anything about it, other than wanting to faint. I almost wanted to fake-faint, until I realized he had picked up my shirt again and balled it in his hands
“What are you--” I watched my shirt fly in the air, and land in the water behind us with a splash, and that’s when I found some kind of remarkable strength and pushed him off of me. “HEY!” I screamed. “THAT’S MY SHIRT!”
He had gotten up too, and before I could run and swim after my shirt, floating among the waves, he caught my wrist, my bad wrist, and I yelled in pain. I tried to kick him away.
“Come on, let’s go,” he said. I stopped moving.
“Go where? You threw my shirt in the ocean! That is expensive! It’s handmade from--”
“If I cared, do you think I would have thrown it out?”
“No!” I shouted, “But that’s mine! You owe me--” He reached for the snapback and then I stopped yelling. “Don’t throw that, please don’t,” I begged. I sounded pitiful, but Minjun would hate me forever if this snapback was gone and I loved him.
With the snapback in his free hand, and he looked at me sternly for a long while, until I started to clench my teeth at the strong clutch he had on my wrist. “Uh-- my wrist--” I whined in a strained voice.
“Sorry.” He gave an apologetic smile, and before I could say anything, he was talking again. “I needed to give you an incentive to come with me, because it’s actually bad to be out here at this time, without a shirt.”
“What?!”
“Come with me,” he said, without elaborating. He slapped the snapback over my sweaty hair, grabbed my better wrist and started running.
Main Character: Wooyoung
Pairing: Nichkhun/Wooyoung, Chansung/Jinwoon (slight)
Warnings: A little bit of harassment
Word Count: 7,571
Author's Note: A (much more thorough) continuation of this will be posted after the reveal!
Prompt 1: “Yeah I’ve been watching me go for it must be years
Watching me get slow, I watch me disappear
And one day, yeah I know, I won’t come back at all...
And always over and over in his ordinary eyes
I’m watching me fall” - The Cure (Watching Me Fall)
Prompt 2: http://i61.tinypic.com/9a8toz.jpg
Prompt 3: Circular Motions
It was a street cafe. The day was hot, like Italy normally was in the heat of the summer. The street was bustling about with rushing people, rickety bikes, and honking cars. If someone stared at the tar of the road long enough, they could see the rippling heat waves rising and dissipating, as if the air was bending and dancing in the scorching sunrays. I liked staring at mirages. It was like a parallel universe wanted breach the barriers we had in our world, and it only happened on hot days when the barriers were fragile. So the air would bend at the pressure like as if a bubble was about to burst. Chansung always told me that I was really thoughtful about our surroundings but I just never said it aloud-- and maybe it would have done some great things if I voiced the things I had in my head. But that made me angry because my thoughts were mine, and I wanted them to stay hidden inside. When something wasn’t meant for the outside, then it will never be. So I stuck my tongue out at him. I mean, what could managers know about singers? That’s right, nothing.
Chansung looked up from his plate, placing his fork and spoon on the side and dabbing the corner of his mouth with a napkin. “Wooyoung?” he said.
I hummed back, but I didn’t really want to face him, not with the sunlight blinding my sight. So I stared into my plate. That’s when I felt the heat of the sun eating the nape of my neck, and when I tried to shade myself with my hand, I could still feel the heat seeping through. I should have put sunscreen.
“Wooyoung, why were you sticking your tongue out at me?” Chansung asked. I only shrugged, it was too hot to explain anything at that point. It was too hot to even eat, but with my manager Hwang and all, I had to follow his lead and if he wanted to go out and eat, then I had to go with him. Sometimes I wondered who was the manager in this relationship and maybe he knew what I was thinking because he smiled and said, “I’m the better manager here.”
I nodded lazily, because I didn’t really feel like I wanted to argue with him. On a normal basis, I would have snapped something back at him in return, but today was just not the day. Maybe that was the other reason why Chansung took me out to eat with him. He knew I wouldn’t be able to say anything in the heat, it only made me tired and dazed out. And then I had the tendency to just stare out into space until I felt my eyelids were heavy and drooping and he would have to drag me back to the stuffy apartment and tell me to get some sleep. How the hell would I get some sleep if I was stressed?
It had been like this for a week since we arrived in Italy. Every night he was about to go to sleep, he’d notice I was far from the bedroom as possible and he’d ask, “Aren’t you going to go to sleep? You need some rest.” But I often ignored it because he didn’t understand the stress I was under, it felt like I was balancing a shit-load of boulders on my shoulders and it hurt so much that I had to lay down on the dusty floor to relax myself. So no, as drowsy as I was, I wasn’t going to let Chansung drag me back to the apartment to go to sleep. Sleep wasn’t good for me.
Chansung must have been talking to me, probably giving me a reprimanding lecture about my behavior or something along the lines of that, but it’s not like I ever paid attention anyway. I never really paid attention unless the case was serious (that has only happened once) or if I was bored out of my mind and thought he could entertain me with his useless words. I love Chansung, I really do, but there came a point where the manager side of him was very much like my parents’ nagging and tugging, and I desperately wanted to escape that. But anyway, Chansung was blabbering and I could hear his voice even when I tried to tune it out. Only then did it occur to me that he was talking about something important because he stopped in mid-sentence and was glaring at me with glassy eyes. Then I saw him lean sideways, and his eyesight wasn’t focused on me anymore, but something behind me. I wanted to turn around and look, but I didn’t have to, since the thing Chansung had been staring at came right towards us from behind.
I heard screams and shouts, and then a hand, a warm hand, held the nape of my neck momentarily before slipping away. I crouched forward out of instinct, and the next thing I saw was a lean, well-dressed man falling (leaping?) right on top of our table. The tabletop split in half on impact, with the man thudding, our dishes clattering, to the ground. I think Chansung yelled, “What the hell?!” and I’m sure I yelled too, but I couldn’t remember. I was just staring wildly at this heaving man, who seemed to have gotten himself up, brushing away the debris and food that caught his clothing. He mumbled something with indistinct gibberish (perhaps Italian), but the moment he glanced up at me, in my direction, everything around me turned mute. He didn’t look Italian at all and I couldn’t see anything but him and his eyes. There were oceans in them that sucked me in and I couldn’t let go of the sight. He was staring back at me, so maybe we were having a moment. Of what? I wanted to say I wasn’t sure, but rather, something else answered it for me, like a gut feeling. Especially the way the sun caught the brown of his eyes, they shimmered like delicious pools of caramel. It was peculiar to admit, but I was drawn to the warm glow.
I was staring intently at him when he tried to take a step closer to me, but he stumbled over a bowl and let out a garbled gasp. His fall startled me. I wanted to get up and help him, but I stayed frozen in my chair, gaping at the scene unfolding before my eyes. When he tried to stand I realized he was literally at my feet, so he placed his hands on my knees for support. I’m not sure why he was struggling, but then a flying arm came clawing near my face and I yelped. What was he doing?! Was he trying to grab my face?! I was hyperventilating, and not only that, my necklace chain was taut around my neck-- his fingers had clung onto it.
“H-Hey--” I managed to blurt out. While he sloppily rose up to his feet, he tugged on the chain until it snapped, and there was a stinging pain on the back of my neck. What the hell?! I yelled again.
He licked his lips, like as if he was about to tell me a secret, and a murmured, “Shhh” fluttered from his lips. Now he was leaning so close that he was moving himself over my lap. I could feel his warm breath against my neck, hotter than the sun, and then, to my shock, he straddled me. My heart was thundering away in my chest, in the back of my mind, and I wanted to push him away. But when I tried to move my arms, they wouldn’t budge? Since when were my arms behind me?! I felt the something clinch my wrists, and the more I kept tugging, the more I felt it dig into my skin. Oh god, no. I was panicking. Breathing hard. There was a stranger on my lap and my hands were handcuffed?!
I could feel the heat of his breath near my ear, while his right hand slid to my back, resting between my shoulder blades. He was trying to calm me with his hand there but that only made it worse. I wanted to tell him to get the hell away from me, but when my lips lifted open nothing came out. Nothing. His body heat was stifling, choking even, and I was beginning to feel so dizzy that I didn’t notice his left hand had traveled down my chest slowly and almost even... teasingly. Maybe that was his intention, but I was spinning out of my mind and there was a growing fear in my stomach that something bad could happen. I couldn’t list the possibilities because it was the touch of his that was overheating my sanity and I could even hear him lick his lips again.
“Tell me where you want to be touched,” he whispered huskily. Where he said those words, I could feel my ear and cheek burn scarlet, and then he moved away a little so our eyes could meet, so I could see his delighted smirk. His parted lips moistened. Then, oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, his hand fell over my crotch and I whimpered a little because the heat-- I don’t know, oh my god, help me. I squirmed a bit, suddenly his thighs squeezed the sides of my waist, his hand pressed harder into my lap and then, just when I thought I was going to faint, he rose to his feet. He snatched the snapback from my hair, and pulled it over his head in a lopsided manner, but not before giving me one last glance and a lick across the lips, and then breaking into a run.
I think I fainted.
* * *
It must have been years. It felt like it because of the way I was hovering in place, while watching things whir past me. My surroundings were floating objects, circling around me in an unfathomable blur and when I reached out to grab one of them, it vanished like sand between my fingers. I didn’t feel afraid but I felt dazed and really hot. In fact, it was exactly like that moment at the street cafe, I realized. Once I made that connection, all the objects disappeared-- except for two that orbited around me. One was my red snapback and the other was my golden locket.
When I frantically reached out for them, they would zip through my fingers or circle around my wrists for the fun of it, almost to mock at me. That made me angry. I started yelling, trying to jab my fingers in the air, hoping to catch them. After a while, I gave up and glared at those two objects while they floated circles around me, round and round and round. For the amusement of it, I decided I’d stare at one point in particular and watch those two objects miss or hit that point. I think they made two orbits in a minute. But when my heartbeat rose, they orbited around me faster, and then I got afraid. The more fear that was instilled in me, the faster the objects went around me.
“Help!” I screamed. “Chansung!” The blur around me streaked red and golden, until something caught my vision. A pair of eyes. That’s it. Just a pair of floating eyes. The same brown oceans that were sucking me in, except now, I wasn’t hovering in place anymore, I was falling towards those eyes, into it? Inside it? I shrieked and screamed. “Please, help me! Chansung-ah!”
My limbs were flailing, hoping to catch onto something, not to fall into the stranger’s eyes but they were so warm and irresistible and yet, all the more frightening. It was like the Cheshire cat, except the eyes came first and then the parted pink lips, and then the nose, the neck, the ears, and finally the whole face and I was falling right into him, while screaming and kicking.
Maybe I would have been okay with falling into him once, but what if I never came back? Go back where? Where was I even? And then, I was back in the chair by the street, but I looked around me, it was pure whiteness and nothing else. When I turned, that’s when the heat came back like a flood. He was there, that man. His arms around my neck, and he drew himself close, sitting himself on my lap with a benign smile. His lips lifted open, and I’m sure he said a string of words, but nothing that I could hear so I tried to read his lips. I yelled, “What?” and he kept on smiling and saying more things that I couldn’t understand. Why could he understand me and I couldn’t understand him?
“Show me,” I said, “Because I can’t hear you.” He moved both hands to my chest, and slid them down, where I started to feel nauseated. I didn’t like where this was going. “S-Stop,” I stuttered. He shook his head, like he was determined to show me and I instantly regretted asking him in the first place. “I need to go back, please,” I begged. I wasn’t sure where I needed to go, even the street where we were located didn’t seem right. But he seemed to comply, with a sad sorrowful smile on his face. It didn’t have the same warmth, so I searched him in the eyes, and-- I screamed like a banshee. I couldn’t even recognize the terrified crackling voice that came out of my mouth, but his eyes flickered grayish-blue and it was so cold. This wasn’t him. This wasn’t him at all.
“Tell me where... you want to be touched,” he said, in a robotic voice.
“No!” I bellowed. “Stay away from me!”
“Wooyoung, tell me--”
“No, no, no!” I pushed him away, and everything around me blackened, and I was falling, falling, falling--
I tumbled off the couch, heard a cringing rip of fabric somewhere, and then I hit the dusty floor with a dull thud. “Ouch,” I groaned. “Ouch,” I said, louder, hoping it would call some attention, but it didn’t seem to be working. “Ouchhhh!” I yelled. Damn it, where was Chansung? I didn’t want to get up myself, I wanted him to pick me up and put me on the couch again. It was still around the time of dusk, I assumed by the soft darkness in the room, and I figured Chansung was probably deep asleep. The only thing that relieved me was that it had been a dream, er, nightmare. But I kept telling myself I wasn’t really that afraid.
I wandered through the hallway, rubbing my red wrists at the memory of the handcuffs. I grumbled to myself about not wanting to get up and how this had been Chansung’s fault. He told me to go eat with him at the cafe and then that whole incident happened and then I had to go to sleep and-- I paused. I couldn’t remember anything that happened when I fainted. I certainly remembered too clearly what happened before Italy, and what happened in Italy before I fainted and now there was this black mysterious gap. “Chansung?” I called.
I headed to his room, and found it completely tidied. “Chansung-ah,” I weakly murmured. Where did he go, so early in the morning at 3am? I wished I could stand there long enough for Chansung to appear out of nowhere, but that was a childish notion. So I turned back to the kitchen, where I discovered a crinkled piece of paper on the counter, next to a small white plastic bottle. From what I could read on the paper in Chansung’s messy handwriting was something like, “Exhaustion. Fever. Emotional trauma?”
Me? I asked in disbelief. Exhaustion, I could understand. Fever would take me a while to absorb, but emotional trauma? I scoffed. Inconceivable. I was fine. The rest of Korea wasn’t because their Jang Wooyoung wasn’t the one they thought they knew, but I knew who I was and that was all that mattered. Sucked to be them, to not know who I really was. I placed the paper on the counter and picked up the pill bottle and shook it. Sounded poisonous. No chance in hell would I take these, I scowled, and I tossed it in the trash bin. I’ll stick with soup, dear Chansung.
But dear Chansung, I’m not fond of staying in the apartment by myself, especially after that whole incident... yesterday? I wondered how long I was out cold. I couldn’t even check my phone because Chansung kept it with him, so I wouldn’t see any incriminating news articles. I had the strongest urge, even found myself slipping my shoes on, to go outside and search for Chansung. But I figured out of all the places in Italy, perhaps our apartment would be safest. If something did happen, then I could... do smoke signals or something, since there weren’t any phones in the apartment. I sighed. Chansung didn’t plan this very well. I plopped myself onto the couch and tried to keep my eyes open, until my chin hit my chest and I dozed off.
* * *
“No, I said, we are going to search for my locket and hat!” I insisted. I was nagging Chansung, following him through the kitchen while he was cooking something for lunch. Cooking disaster probably.
“No,” Chansung replied, “We’re not going to do that.”
“Why not?” I asked. I was becoming more irritated and very impatient.
“It’s better if we just left it alone. It’s not that big of a deal.”
“Not that a big of a deal? What the hell, I got harassed and then my property was damaged, stolen, and that’s not a big deal? How the hell is that not a big deal?” I asked through my gritted teeth. “If we were in Korea, this would be the biggest deal in the news.”
“Yes,” Chansung acknowledged. “You’re right. But we’re not in Korea anymore because something else became too big of a deal and because,” Chansung sighed, “You should just forget about the locket and your hat.”
I ignored his statement about something else. “But that’s mine! How is that hard to understand? I want it back!”
“We can buy new ones.”
“No! I want that particular snapback and locket back. Right now.”
Chansung stopped his tracks, dropping the pan onto the counter and then he turned and glared at me. “You don’t get it, do you?” I shook my head slowly. “That locket is evidence, it’s the past with her, it has everything to do with that something else that we wanted to avoid and so, we don’t need it anymore. And as if I have to remind you, that’s also why we’re in Italy.”
“We?” I echoed back. “We don’t need it anymore?”
“Okay fine, more you than me, but just-- Wooyoung. Leave it behind.”
My lips twitched, in deliberation of what I was going to say. But as many thoughts bubbled into my mind, it came down to one word. “No.”
“Wooyoung--”
“I can make my own decisions about the things I own.”
“So you own her, is that why you did what you did? Is that why you betrayed your country?”
“I didn’t betray my country!” I shouted. “They-- they didn’t know who I was. They misunderstood me. They misinterpreted the situation.”
“How else were they going to view it?!” Chansung yelled back.
“I don’t know!” I shook my head and tried to calm down. “I don’t know. Maybe if they gave me a chance to explain--”
“Explain? Explain? Wooyoung, I told you. You can’t explain that at all, that’s why I told you not to get involved in the first place. But no. Do you ever listen to me? No, of course not. Now we’re stuck in Italy because you think Korea has misunderstood you. Maybe, you’ve misunderstood yourself!”
“Maybe not!” I screamed. I spun around and stormed out of the apartment with Chansung’s shouts in the background, calling me to stay. I could care less.
* * *
I had to admit I pissed off Chansung, which in turn, decided to slap me in the face with karma and now I was pissed myself. Did I ever mention how annoying Italian summer heat was? While roaming through town, I discovered I couldn’t really deal with the heat and also, what a dumb idiot I’ve been in the past two weeks, well, more like the past two years because of that whole involvement issue. When taken the wrong way, everything looked way too scandalous, I tell you, and then it spiraled downwards and the next thing I know, I’m handcuffed to a chair with a guy asking me where I want to be touched.
Fate or punishment? Let’s go with both.
Though really, the more I thought about it, the more it didn’t really bother me that some stranger-thief had gotten up close and personal. So I suppose I was leaning towards fate. In fact, it may have been just the thing I needed in all that stress. Just something absurd to wake me up from the world of depression and loneliness.
I missed her though, and I wished that weird encounter with that stranger didn’t have to result in my locket and hat being stolen. The locket reminded me of her, and the hat reminded me of Minjun, a close associate and friend. As for her, she was the person Chansung told me not to get involved with. But alas, look where I am now. In Italy. In nowhere town. In the streets. Looking for that stranger.
I learned very quickly that I couldn’t speak Italian or to its heat, so I kept asking if anyone spoke Korean. (English wasn’t going to help my case at all, though Chansung kept nagging me it would do me some good if I had learned it. Then he came to the conclusion that everything I didn’t do were the things actually good for me, and everything I did do were things probably wrong for me and for the rest of the world. As irritated as I was, I had to laugh because depressingly, he was right.) But anyhow, I knew the chances of finding someone who could speak Korean were very low, but surely Chansung couldn’t have come to this town without any planning?
After much complaining about the sweltering heat, I discovered I was right (or good for Chansung, I should compliment him more often) there was someone who could speak Korean. And maybe even better for Chansung’s planning, this guy was a baker. Better for me, the bakery had heavenly cooling fans.
“Not many Koreans around here, and certainly not as prone to attention like you,” the baker said with a bright grin as I entered shop. I went to the closest fan and followed it’s rotation while it circled around, and I sighed at the cool relief. But then I felt embarrassed, had everyone seen the whole incident yesterday? I laughed shyly, and moved away from the fan, brushing my damp sweaty hair out of my eyes.
“Thanks, I guess. It’s nice to find someone else, other than my manager, who can speak Korean,” I said. I watched him roll the dough with his fists and then he looked up.
“Really nice guy, your manager.” He had a secretive smile like something about Chansung was connected to this baker.
“Oh?” I answered, wondering how he could have known.
“We talked earlier this morning.”
Puzzle pieces came together and I figured it out. “Chansung was here at 3am?”
The baker laughed. “Yes, hungry and worried.”
“Oh,” I said again and nodded. I wondered what they could have talked about. Sometimes when Chansung saw the opportunity, he’d want to talk to anyone. But early mornings and hunger always made Chansung open up, not just to anyone, so this encounter with the baker and Chansung must have been special. Should I tell that to the baker? I could sense the affinity the baker had to Chansung, and I smiled. Lovebirds.
“I’m Jinwoon,” the baker said after awhile. I reached out to shake hands with him, which I realized was a really stupid idea because he laughed and wriggled his flour-dusted fingers.
“I’m--”
“I know who you are. Jang Wooyoung, right?” he asked. I simply nodded, though now I felt slightly jaded at the idea that Chansung may have talked about me and my mistakes in Korea. But the way that Jinwoon was acting seemed devoid of disgust or pity, only cordial friendliness, anything that a new visitor would have wanted. It occurred to me he must have been living in this small town for quite awhile, when I saw photos of him as a child in the very same background. If he had been here for some time, then he must have known the stranger-thief right? But before I asked the question, I mulled on it for a little while longer, because it struck me odd that Chansung or anyone else didn’t think of calling the police after that whole stranger-danger incident. Then again, neither did I, and my lack of emotion about the whole situation was a little unsettling.
“Do you know who that was...” I asked quietly. I didn’t want to sound overly needy or interested in the stranger. I just wanted my locket and hat back.
“Who?” Jinwoon asked. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, after placing a tray in the oven behind him.
“That guy...” I replied, staring at the floor, wanting to be vague. I also had the sudden urge of wanting to melt into the floor or the walls behind me, because I could feel Jinwoon staring hard at me.
“You mean Bonaparte?”
I looked up, with my face contorted in all confused directions. “Huh?” Jinwoon only laughed, like it was some kind of inside joke. That’s when I realized that not only had Jinwoon lived in this town for so long, but maybe he really knew everyone that lived here. I asked Jinwoon to repeat the name once more and after awhile, I figured it must have been a pseudonym, because who would have wanted live a life as Bonaparte?
“No, you don’t get it,” Jinwoon tried to explain. “You know Napoleon Bonaparte?”
“Sure,” I said, though not entirely genuinely. When I was a child I was more interested in singing and dancing, not studying Italian or French history.
“I’m not talking about what Napoleon Bonaparte did, I’m talking about how well known he is. You say his name and everyone knows him! So when that “stranger-thief,” as you call him, came walking into this town, he became so famous. Exactly like Napoleon Bonaparte! So he was deemed Bonaparte.”
I nodded slowly. A guy named for status and reputation. Well, I knew exactly how that felt.
“Well actually, not exactly,” Jinwoon continued. He rounded the corner of the counter and guided me to sit at a table with him. “There’s more to the story to why he’s called Bonaparte, but it’s best if you ask him.” The way Jinwoon talked about Bonaparte was almost like as if they were acquaintances or even friends perhaps.
“So... suppose I wanted to ask him, where could I find him?”
Jinwoon laughed. “No, you want to ask him where your stolen things are.”
My eyes widened. “How did you know?”
“Oh, that’s why everyone knows him. He’s notorious for it,” Jinwoon said in a low voice, like there was something spicy about it and he wiggled his eyebrows with a smirk. The more I paid attention to his behavior, the more I could find some similarities between him and Bonaparte. They must have been incredibly close friends, because I knew when friends were together long enough, their habits started to rub on each other.
“So? Isn’t it wrong to steal?” I asked flatly.
“Is it?” Jinwoon threw back the question at me.
“Well...” I hesitated. It was wrong, but if I were to base my judgement on sensation, then it didn’t feel wrong at all. That was particularly unsettling.
“You look conflicted,” Jinwoon said with a knowing smile. “Do you want to know why you don’t think it’s wrong?”
I nodded, I really wanted to know.
“It’s because you did something wrong and those stolen items were connected to it.”
“What?” I instinctively said, though inside, I felt a sickening drop and I didn’t like it when people knew every black past of me. Where did Bonaparte and Jinwoon get such information? Did Bonaparte tell Jinwoon? Was he a saesang fan? Now I really wanted to get the police, and the moment I made that decision in my mind, Jinwoon decided to tell me something shocking.
“Bonaparte is basically the police of this town.”
“What?!” I cried out. No wonder no one did anything when that whole incident happened yesterday! “But-- but, that’s not proper conduct,” I complained, “To touch me like that or to take my things! Isn’t there like a procedure or like-- I mean, why did he have to steal those things?! It’s not like they’re directly related to the scandal--”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Jinwoon held his hands up, in defense. “Butter-mouth, relax. No need to tell me more than you need to. You need to understand this is a small village town and everything here is old fashioned. The real police is a solo guy rocking in his chair out at the edge of town, guarding the border-line. He’s pretty much the grandpa of this place, good guy but nearly deaf and a century old. As for Bonaparte, he has the unofficial title of running things here. Sure, stealing is wrong,” Jinwoon shrugged his shoulders, “but he’s usually got a good reason for it. Besides we love Bonaparte. This town loves him, because he’s like our king. Our Robin Hood. Our Napoleon Bonaparte.”
“Why would you love a criminal?” I asked, still feeling crummy about the whole thing.
“Good question,” Jinwoon countered, “Why would I?” He leaned over the table to give me a hard stare, and I realized that I was pretty much a criminal too.
“Okay,” I said, backing away, and it was my turn to hold up my hands. “So I just want to know why he took my things. I want them back.”
Jinwoon hummed. “Right, no harm done.”
I watched Jinwoon get up from the table expectantly, but he wasn’t giving me an answer. “Are you going to tell me?” I asked.
“No,” Jinwoon said. I squinted at him, I didn’t like it when people played games with me. I was about to say something snarky in return when he interrupted me. “Because I don’t know where you could find Bonaparte.”
* * *
I think Jinwoon had been lying. He kept smiling and sneering behind everything, much like Bonaparte, and that had to be a sign of close companionship; which meant, Jinwoon knew exactly where to find him. I pestered Jinwoon enough to give me a “maybe” location but as I started to head towards the beach, I was beginning to think this was entirely planned. Exactly as that incident had been planned. In fact, if I was really delirious from the heat, I could have said that Chansung knew about the plan too, and pretended to not know about it. Pretty much, I felt like the whole world had turned its back on me and I was all alone with the scandalous crime I’ve committed. Chansung had said coming to Italy was the whole avoiding tactic, but it seemed to me that I couldn’t just run away from my problems. It would take a very blind person to do that, and I’m so sure blind people knew it better than that. So everything I did, everywhere I went, I was reminded of the mistakes that I made in Korea. Maybe Bonaparte knew how to fix this. But with that conclusion, I realized how stupid I was to be putting all my trust into the hands of a complete stranger.
He’s a complete stranger-thief, for godsakes!
The more time I spent under the sun, the more I felt dizzy. Well, Jinwoon did warn me that the beach would be deserted at around 1pm because it was scorching hot for anyone to take a stroll, or be as crazy as me and search for Bonaparte. I thought the sand was turning red and then when I looked into the ocean, it almost seemed to call to me to take a drink from it. But when I stepped in it, the water was lukewarm and my instincts knew better than to drink it. Heat waves rose from the sand, and I had to squint real hard until I could feel tears and sweat dripping down my cheeks. I tried to shade my eyes with my hands, but that didn’t do so well, until I gasped because I saw something moving in the distance. I quickened my pace, or tried to, because my legs seemed to be more sluggish and jelly-like when I tried to will them to go faster and then I was stumbling into the burning pebbles. It stung like hot needles.
It was a matter of forever when I finally approached... my hat! Even in the red sand (I swear to God it was red), I could spot my red snapback. Surprise, surprise, it was the stranger-thief wearing it. I came closer, taking softer steps so as to not make so much noise, and I saw him laying on his stomach atop a large white towel, shirtless and wearing white swimming shorts. He was tanning. At the hottest time of the day, for a heatstroke, obviously. And of course, that’s what stranger-thieves do on a regular basis. Of course.
Okay, Jang Wooyoung, here’s the plan, I was telling myself. I’m going to take off my flip-flops, tip-toe over in the lava-hot sand and-- I shook my head. No, I’ll keep my flip-flops on, tip-toe as quietly as possible, lean over, snatch the hat, and make a run for it! Good plan, I nodded to myself and took a deep breath for composure and--
“Hey.”
I looked down, and Bonaparte was on his back, staring up at me with a smug face. I cursed at myself, I should have come up with my plan while walking here. Just to show it off, he pulled at the hat closer to his face and flashed a smile. I gave him a glare, but the longer I stood still, the more I felt like the ground beneath my feet was spinning around, in blurry overlapping circles.
“Sit down with me,” he said, patting to the space next to him, on the towel. I glared at him, unflinching, unblinking, and more tears slid down my cheeks. He seemed to grimace. But then, it occurred to me, he had said the statement in Korean-- Jinwoon didn’t tell me that Bonaparte could speak Korean. I was taken aback, I knew he wasn’t Italian, but speaking Korean that was all the more suspicious so-- my train of thought was interrupted. I heard him grunt as he sat up, and now he was really looking at me. He turned the cap sideways, which was no benefit for him, the sunrays would blind his eyes; until I realized he wasn’t doing that for himself, he was doing it to distract me.
I was caught in his eyes again, and suddenly I was falling, falling, falling, just like my dream. He had grabbed my hold of my wrist and yanked me towards him when I had least expected it. I don’t think he realized I was nearly spineless in the heat, so instead of sitting down next to him as he thought a little yank would do, I fell right on top of him. Our chests touched. I was afraid he’d hear my heart racing, maybe his was racing too. I swallowed thickly and I was struck by how fragile he looked when I was up close to him, how his soft lips quivered and his eyes were glassy, shimmery brown.
“Um,” he murmured, moving his hands up my biceps and stopping at my shoulders. “It’s really hot.”
I stared at him bewilderedly, until the words processed in my brain and I swore I heard him say-- I gasped, let out an embarrassed cry, and bolted up from his gentle touch. Unfortunately, I had gotten up wobbly, so my legs completely gave out, and I was falling backwards, with a yell. It seemed dramatically slow for some odd reason, but I was convinced I was going to fall in the hot sand, until he caught my wrist again and I heard a painful crack and I yelled louder, until he got up to secure his hold around me. It was almost like a hug. I was panting nervously into his shoulder and then I heard a sweet chortle. I moved away to look at him, and I realized he was the source of the soft giggles, dumbfounded at how an angelic sound could be coming from his lips. I slapped him across the face.
He stopped abruptly, letting go, and then I did land in the sand. I felt a shot of pain coming from my wrist, and I let out a muffled, “Ow,” while trying to bite it down. I didn’t want to seem like I needed help.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and he crouched down beside me, and held my wrist to look at it. He tried bending my wrist back, and I looked away and let out a sharp exhale. “Does it hurt?” he asked softly.
I turned back quickly and glared at him. “Yes, it hurts. It hurts that you stole my snapback and my locket,” I said angrily.
His expression changed for a moment, confused about what I was referring to, and then he frowned. “I’m not talking about that, I’m talking about your wrist--”
“Give me back my snapback and locket and no one has to worry about a thing.”
“But doesn’t this concern you?” he asked, and he forcefully bent my wrist and I yelped. I was about to slap him again, but he slipped his arm underneath my knees and put the other arm around my back and lifted me.
“HEY!” I yelled. I flung my arms and legs about, but I realized he was moving me a few feet to the towel, away from the burning sand. He gently placed me there and sat front of me, crossing his legs.
“Okay, let’s talk,” he said.
“Talk?” I scoffed. “I made it clear. I just want my items back, then we can go our separate ways and not have to be an irritation to each other.”
“I don’t think you’re an irritation to me,” he said quietly, ducking his head. I was about to say something in return, but his tone struck me with a sudden sincerity.
“Huh?” I said. He looked up again, lifting open his lips but I interrupted him. “You dropped your formailites. We’re not friends.”
“You’re younger than me,” he said with a smile.
“How would you know--”
“Fine, I’ll consider it,” he said.
“Consider? Consider what?”
“Giving this back to you,” he said, touching the rim of my snapback.
“And my locket?” I questioned. That seemed to have him pondering for a bit, but I looked at his neck and my locket wasn’t there. I started to get a little anxious about where it was.
“Actually,” he began, “I change my mind.”
“What?” I asked through my gritted teeth.
He hummed and shrugged, having a pleased smile on his face. “How far are you willing to go for your hat and locket?”
I shut my eyes and told myself to relax. “They are... very valuable to me and cannot be replaced. Ever.”
“So does that mean very far?” he asked.
My eyelids shot open and I found myself yelling at him. “Yes! I’ll do anything to get them back!”
“Really?”
“Yes!” I cried out, becoming more and more frustrated and impatient.
Some things happened really fast. Especially the things that I knew I would regret later, except this time, I was regretting everything the moment he gave me a devilish smirk. I had forgotten who I was up against; this was the guy, who at first encounter, wanted to know where he should touch me. Now, he was on my lap again, because he forced my legs down and just to keep me steady, he circled his legs around my waist to the back, and wrapped his arms around me. Before I could resist his hold, he whispered in my ear, “This is what you agreed with.”
“I did not,” I replied indignantly. But my voice was so pitifully weak, I felt so embarrassed to be in such close proximity. I wanted to push him away. But yet again, I was frozen in place and I couldn’t do a thing and even worse, there weren’t any handcuffs to stop me. I could feel the heat of his breath against my neck, almost as if he were breathing slowly and deliberately from my shoulder and up my neck to behind my ear, the most sensitive part that had me shaking.
“Shhh,” he whispered, “Relax.” I couldn’t, I am a normal human being, my heart was going to explode with uneven palpitations, I couldn’t breathe from his body heat, from the sun’s heat, or the sand’s heat. But he continued to whisper in my ear, and I couldn’t hear everything because I was becoming so dizzy, and I only caught him say, “Show me you’re really desperate.”
I shook my head and let out a whimper, I didn’t know how. Then he smiled, I could feel his smile against my ear, and he whispered something else. I heard it loud and clear this time, because my eyes widened in shock and I tried to move away, unsuccessfully. “N-No,” I stuttered.
“Say it,” he coaxed me. “Don’t you want your things back?”
I sighed embarrassedly and looked away from his fixated stare. He must have been staring at my cheeks, because I suddenly became self conscious of how flushed I felt. “Fine,” I said resignedly. I took a deep breath, and I could feel his eyes on me, waiting expectantly until I couldn’t bear with it anymore. “Un-Undress me...” I stuttered breathlessly. I felt like a needy idiot when I said it, but it didn’t stop his hands from moving to the collar of my shirt, and I swallowed nervously. “W-Wait, this wasn’t part of the deal--”
“You told me to undress you,” he answered delightfully.
“You told me to say that!” I cried.
“And you did, so I’m doing you a favor,” he whispered, leaning into my ear. I turned my head away, I had felt his moist lips brush against my ear. He reached the last buttons quickly, pushed the sleeves off my shoulders, and then he stared at my naked torso, and I blushed under his perusing gaze.
“S-Stop looking.”
But he didn’t, he continued to stare and take whatever delicious fantasy he wanted, and I couldn’t do anything about it, other than wanting to faint. I almost wanted to fake-faint, until I realized he had picked up my shirt again and balled it in his hands
“What are you--” I watched my shirt fly in the air, and land in the water behind us with a splash, and that’s when I found some kind of remarkable strength and pushed him off of me. “HEY!” I screamed. “THAT’S MY SHIRT!”
He had gotten up too, and before I could run and swim after my shirt, floating among the waves, he caught my wrist, my bad wrist, and I yelled in pain. I tried to kick him away.
“Come on, let’s go,” he said. I stopped moving.
“Go where? You threw my shirt in the ocean! That is expensive! It’s handmade from--”
“If I cared, do you think I would have thrown it out?”
“No!” I shouted, “But that’s mine! You owe me--” He reached for the snapback and then I stopped yelling. “Don’t throw that, please don’t,” I begged. I sounded pitiful, but Minjun would hate me forever if this snapback was gone and I loved him.
With the snapback in his free hand, and he looked at me sternly for a long while, until I started to clench my teeth at the strong clutch he had on my wrist. “Uh-- my wrist--” I whined in a strained voice.
“Sorry.” He gave an apologetic smile, and before I could say anything, he was talking again. “I needed to give you an incentive to come with me, because it’s actually bad to be out here at this time, without a shirt.”
“What?!”
“Come with me,” he said, without elaborating. He slapped the snapback over my sweaty hair, grabbed my better wrist and started running.