Work Text:
‘I love the smell of gasoline
I light the match to taste the heat
I've always liked to play with fire’
-Sam Tinnesz, Play With Fire
It felt like the hundredth time Hoseok had come home from school to see his mother’s body on the floor of the bathroom, and he didn’t feel a thing. At this point, it had become part of his routine, to pass through the front door, take off his shoes, put his bag in his bedroom, then drag his mother from the bathroom into bed. This was different, only because this time he needed to remove the needle from her arm, letting it drop into the sink, a small bead of blood appearing at the point it had been in flesh.
The first time had been when he was ten. Hoseok had known the things she was putting in her body were bad, and that was why he didn’t call an ambulance, or call anyone for help. His father was long gone at that point, the divorce papers still lying in the small dining room where they had been untouched for years, collecting dust. He could do nothing but sit next to her, praying she would wake up, and when she did she had promised she would never do it again. Hoseok was thirteen now, and he no longer prayed she would open her eyes, didn’t have the energy to wish for her health.
Getting her into her bed wasn’t too difficult, his mother being nothing but skin and bones, but she was paid enough by the beauty salon she worked at for Hoseok to eat three meals a day. That paired with his dancing allowed him to be strong enough to lift her onto the mattress, albeit clumsily, and he pulled the covers over her body. The blankets were thin, catered for summer they were in, but even August felt cold, a chill set in Hoseok’s bones he couldn’t chase away. Every season was starting to feel the same, only temporary weather making the cycle break, but it would be a while until there was snow, and rain didn’t feel as refreshing as before.
His mother didn’t move once, not even a twitch in her fingers, and Hoseok felt his mind forcing him to leave the room, going to his own bedroom just a few metres down the hall. On instinct, he avoided all the floorboards that made a noise when you stepped on them, his silent house wanting to be left undisturbed. The wooden door didn’t shut properly, never had, the frame tilting in a way that the doorway didn’t accommodate its shape, but Hoseok was used to it, had never known anything different. Even when his father was here, when his mother wasn’t high off of her head, the door had never been fixed, and realistically he knew it would never be set right.
It used to make him sad, his life, what everything had come to. Hoseok used to go to bed, trying to be quiet as he sobbed into his pillow, tears dampening the fabric beneath his head. Now, he could barely spare a drop of water to shed, instead feeling nothing, nothing at all as he sat on the top of the mattress, the duvet cover that had lost all its bright colours from years and years of use. He had become accustomed to the numb sensation, a feeling that only ever really went away when he was dancing, almost always sitting heavily in his bones like metal weights, making every movement exhausting.
It was always the same, that he would go to their grubby bathroom, brush his teeth, wash his face, then slide into his bed and try to sleep. At almost always the same time he would hear footsteps, sounds from feet not coordinated enough to avoid the floorboards that creaked, and his ajar door would open, his mother almost stumbling inside. Hoseok knew by now it was better to feign sleep, and he would keep his eyes shut, breathing steady, resisting any reaction as his mother placed a messy kiss to his forehead, murmuring small apologies as she wished him goodnight, then retreating to her own bedroom to rest.
That was the problem Hoseok had, was that despite the resentment he felt towards his mother’s actions, he still loved her, knew she loved him. It was how she always felt guilty when he found her surrounded by drugs, the fact she would work extra hours to allow him to continue to go to his expensive dance lessons, that when she could she would always cook meals for him to eat, arrange the food in a heart on a plate. It made everything more painful to bare, seeing his mother in the state she was constantly in, because he did still love her, didn’t want to leave in the same way his father did.
“I love you, Hoseokie,” she would slur, voice just a bit too loud to be considered a whisper, too quiet to be her normal speech. “I love you, I’ll get better, I’m sorry.”
Despite her saying the same line over and over, nothing ever changed; she never upheld her end of her promises even if Hoseok knew she wanted to. He knew his mother was a good woman, knew it was fact, the way she would sacrifice herself to try and provide the things she knew Hoseok would want, the way she would deliver their leftovers to the elderly woman who was their neighbour in the small pocket of houses they lived in. It was a fact that made everything worse, that a good woman was plagued with her lust over white powders that could kill her.
“Goodnight, Hoseokie, I love you,” she would say as a final line, pressing another messy kiss to his forehead, stumbling out the room and trying to shut his door when they all knew it would never really close.
She would be gone by the time Hoseok woke up in the morning, the lunch she always made him sitting on the stained countertop, a note slid in the container, ‘I love you, have a nice day!’. Her work at the salon started early, and she had to travel for almost an hour on the public busses that rarely passed by their houses, so she was always gone earlier than he woke up. It meant he had the house to himself as he got ready for school, showering, using cheap shampoo that smelt like artificial fruit to wash his hair, brushing his teeth and snagging an apple to eat on the way to school.
It wasn’t a long walk, and it allowed Hoseok have time to himself, letting the sun hit his face to finally let some warmth into his bones. His uniform wasn’t comfortable, but he felt as though he could finally breathe when he was out the house, away from his mother. Hoseok loved her, loved her so much but he was so tired, so exhausted from everything, from the routine they had somehow created of him having to watch her suffer. School was a place he could finally feel like the air in his lungs was really supplying oxygen, an escape from everything else around him, providing time for him to feel human again.
In school, he could forget he was going to get home and find his mother passed out on the floor again, and he could pretend to his friends that everything was okay, that his life was just normal, completely and honestly normal. Nobody suspected a thing; nobody ever visited his house to find evidence that he wasn’t being a hundred percent truthful, and it was almost like a holiday from the rest of his life. At moments, it made him feel guilty that he would forget his mother’s suffering, but the feeling never lasted long, not with how good it felt to feel free.
His dance lessons were immediately after school, and it was Hoseok’s favourite part of his day. It was another walk, still in the opposite direction to his house, and held in a dance studio on the nicer side of their area. The lessons cost a small fortune, and Hoseok knew his mother worked hard to get the money to spend on him, already paying a discounted price because his teacher had given him almost a semi-scholarship after watching him dance for a year. It was the place in the world he felt most at home, where he felt least out of place, surrounded by people who shared his interests.
Dance really was an escape, something he could do to forget everything, to express how he felt and not feel the numb sensations hanging onto his limbs. His bones got lighter when he was dancing to music, his chest felt less constricted, and he finally felt as though the smiles he sent at people weren’t faked, weren’t just for show. He had lessons three times a week, on a Monday, Wednesday and Friday, and even on the days there weren’t lessons his teacher let him come to the studio, watching the other classes or using the studio to practice. He had a feeling his teacher realised there was something Hoseok wasn’t saying about his home, but didn’t ask.
The front doors of the building were glass, with a logo and the name of the dance school in thin black lines, even just the entrance bringing him comfort, serenity. Opening the door, he passed by the reception desk, waved at the old man on the phone who he passed every few days, receiving a small wave back from wrinkled fingers. Adjusting the bag on his shoulder, Hoseok turned the corner to the stairs, the lift still having the ‘Out of order’ sign it had had for a while now. It was odd that it hadn’t been fixed yet, the last time it broke about a year ago it was sorted within a week, but he didn’t really pay it too much mind as he climbed the staircase to the studio.
Reaching the top of the stairs, he turned to the door of the studio on the left, taking his earphones out of his ears with one hand, turning the door handle of the room with the other. Hoseok slid his phone into his pocket as he entered the studio, nodding in greeting to the other teenagers scattered around the room, seeing his teacher at the room’s speaker as he put his bag at the side near the mirrors. He could always breathe easiest in this room, even above the other studios in the building, just something about it making his whole body relax, whole mind focused only on the present, not anything else.
Quickly getting his exercise clothes from his bag, he retreated to the bathrooms on the other side of the space to get changed, checking the lock as he changed his school uniform for a pair of baggy trousers and an equally as large t-shirt, an old logo printed on the front he didn’t really know but liked the look of. Slipping on his trainers, he bundled his uniform in his hands as he entered the main studio space again, more people having arrived since he left minutes ago.
Messily stuffing his clothes into his bag, Hoseok looked over the room again to see his friends sitting in the corner, one noticing him and gesturing for him to come closer. This was another breath of fresh air, the people he was around. He was much better friends with the people at his dance classes than at school, feeling as though he could be more genuine around them, not have to fake emotions or feelings because he felt more himself than anything else when he was in the studio.
“Did you hear?” He heard one of his friends saying as he approached, her voice quiet enough to only be heard by the people in the close vicinity. Hoseok sat in a gap of the teenager’s miniature circle as she paused for affect, making people nudge her to continue already. “They had to fire two of the teachers because of budget cuts.”
“How did you even hear that?” A boy scoffed in response, earning a sly grin.
Budget costs would explain a lot, at least a lot of what Hoseok had noticed over the last couple of weeks. It would first be the reason why the lift was still out of order even when it had been months, why there seemed to be less printed posters and pamphlets about the studio and around the area. Hearing that staff needed to be fired made him feel sympathy, but he was also grateful his teacher wasn’t one of the ones to go. He loved their instructor, and didn’t know what he would do if the teacher ever did leave, him being one of the people who supported Hoseok most in his dreams to be a professional.
“At least they haven’t gotten rid of the chocolate squares in the reception downstairs,” another girl added in, and Hoseok found himself laughing with everyone else at the comment, calming when their teacher called for their attention.
Really, Hoseok’s dance teacher was one of his favourite people in the world, probably easily competing for first place in the ranking. Son Sungdeuk was someone Hoseok placed on a pedestal for the whole world to see, easily able to talk for hours to others about how he was so wonderful, so amazing, so talented, a god walking among men. There didn’t seem to be one type of dance the other couldn’t do, although Hoseok had never asked about ballet or contempory, but he was sure his teacher still excelled, the man able to move as though his whole body was fluid.
“Okay, happy Monday,” Sungdeuk greeted them, earning a small groan from the room, Hoseok not exempt from the chorus. “Oh none of that,” the teacher dismissed, some of the teenagers laughing. “Do we remember where we were last week?”
Falling into a dance routine was like speaking to Hoseok, the movements coming as easily as the words he had been spouting his whole life, every action coming together like a continuous sentence, a speech in front of an audience of thousands. As soon as the song started, it was like his body could remember every single thing it had been taught, and he could recite the routine by heart without needing to watch their teacher, every cue and beat ingrained in his mind. Really it was amazing, how he couldn’t remember anything from school half the time, and yet all these movements came like breathing, like something he needed to do to live.
It was like a bubble built its self around him, nobody else mattering once he was moving to music, mind blank to the world as soon as there was a familiar bass, a familiar melody. It felt as though gravity had lessened in the room, like the laws of physics had been broken just for him, the universe morphing into something different as soon as his limbs were moving. Dance really was an escape, from everything that was happening; everything that he knew was going to happen, felt like his own pocket of a new galaxy.
Coming to the end of the first run of the dance, Hoseok was breathless in the best way possible, feeling a large grin on his face from the adrenaline flowing through his veins like a river, pulsing in his ears like a bell. He could never really get tired, not of dancing, the exhaustion of movement not enough to stop him when he finally felt alive. He could dance for days, do the same routine perfectly for hours and hours upon end, and it would never feel like a chore, not when it felt so good with every twist and turn.
“Hey, Seok?” One of his friends called, and he turned in their direction, smiling as he took a drink from his water bottle he had just gotten from his bag. “Can you help me with one of the steps in the second verse?”
Even teaching dance was heaven, and Hoseok knew he was most likely going to end up in the place of his dance teacher if his life continued how it seemed to be going. Knowing his future didn’t seem too daunting, not when he got the same joy from guiding someone through the steps, watching others execute the movements perfectly because of his help. It would be years until he was in the position where he needed to work, having to first go through more years of middle school, high school, university if he could manage it, but even without that it would still be a long time, and Hoseok was content to wait.
The routine started up again, and as usual Hoseok’s whole reality melted away, his mind creating the image of him dancing on a large stage, with large red curtains and seats full before him. There were grand chandeliers, gold accents all around the room, and everyone in his audience was wearing the finest of clothes, all transfixed as Hoseok moved across the stage, hitting every beat, completing every movement no matter how difficult. The fantasy was easy to fall into, even if Hoseok was still paying attention to the space around him in the studio to avoid injury, moving as though his bones had ceased to exist.
Again it came to an end, and again he couldn’t help but grin at the adrenaline coursing through his body, intoxicating in the way it made him feel like he could rule the world. Despite knowing he had completed the dance faultlessly, he listened to their teacher giving out his pointers, remembered every word as he honed in on certain things people were doing right or wrong, picking up on the smallest of details. Hoseok always wanted to do the dances perfectly, and his teacher was always there to point out errors, flagging the things Hoseok could really focus on to become the best, to get it perfectly right.
The end of the class always felt to come too soon, and it always caught Hoseok by surprise when the teacher dismissed everyone home, telling everyone they had done a great job. It never failed to feel like they still had so much time left, and Hoseok was always astounded as he looked at the clock on the wall, no matter how many years he would do the exact same thing, make the exact same mistake. It really was like the world behaved differently when he was dancing, and he was always sad when reality woke him up.
Sighing, he still felt the adrenaline in his body, his heart pounding in his chest like his own drum, trying to coax him into dancing more and more. The smile was still on his face as he let his shoulders fall, going to his bag to try and fully put his clothes away, taking long drinks from his water bottle as he listened to his friends talk about the most random things, one ranting about how he was a few hundred won short of being able to buy a six pack of instant ramen. Sliding his now empty bottle into his bag before doing up the zip, Hoseok stretched his arms above his head, dropping them when he heard someone say his name.
“Hey, Hoseok, can I talk to you for a second?” Sungdeuk called from where he was stood by the speaker, and Hoseok responded with a nod, turning to wish his friends goodbye.
“What do you think he wants to talk to you for?” One girl asked, and Hoseok just shrugged in response, picking up his bag and throwing a final wave over his shoulder before he crossed the emptier room.
People were leaving through the door, and the space was getting quieter and quieter, Hoseok watching as his friends started splitting up, some going to get changed in the bathroom and others just leaving in their exercise clothes. Soon, it was just a few people left, and Hoseok plugged his earphones into his phone as he slowly finished crossing the room, thinking of what to listen to as he walked home. It would probably be good to listen to songs they hadn’t made a routine to, the temptation to just fall into familiar steps as he walked feeling too strong to resist.
“Hoseok, hey,” the older male said as Hoseok reached his side, unplugging his phone from the speaker and placing it in his pocket. “I’m afraid I have some bad news.”
Those words made Hoseok’s heart skip a beat. He had learned over years that someone saying they had bad news was never good, especially in his case, the first memory he had of bad news was about his parents wanting a divorce. His father had told him the exact same words, that he was ‘afraid he had some bad news’, and there was anxiety creating knots in his stomach, as though his intestines had been tied into bows. Bad news could mean so many different things, and every one sounded like a nightmare, something Hoseok couldn’t deal with right now when dancing was meant to be an escape, not something to put him under even more stress.
“You might have heard that we’re having to cut some things to help with the budget,” Sungdeuk started, and Hoseok’s mind started racing about everything that could be said in the next moment, every little possible thing that could be defined as bad news. “It’s because the rent of the building has gone up quite significantly, and the company don’t want to have to relocate.”
He had made a miniature list in his head, all the things he could be about to be told, every possibility. At least the little added detail the teacher said crossed of his main concern, the point at the top of his list, that the whole school was going to close and be replaced by something that just wouldn’t have the same impact on Hoseok’s life. It lessened the pressure in his chest just a little bit, but apprehension was creeping in again despite the relief, because there were many other pointed things that his teacher could possibly say, and none of them were good.
The Sungdeuk sighed, and Hoseok tried to ignore how the teacher looked so sad, so disappointed, all eyes downturned and harsh lines in his face. He still had hope that the news wasn’t too bad, even when his teacher looked like this was a task he would rather do anything else but complete, what he was about to say something he would rather do anything but deliver. If he was about to say what Hoseok was suspecting, then all he could do was hope, hope when he knew the world was about to crumble down around him.
“I’m afraid they’ve said that we’re going to have to stop the scholarship scheme,” Sungdeuk finally said, shooting Hoseok a pitying look. “Have all the students pay full price.”
Had they been playing Bingo, Hoseok would have just won a prize, all his squares matching up to make a perfect board. Despite his list finally finding an answer, circling the point in thick red pen, he still felt as though his heart was about to be ripped out of his chest, nausea creeping up his throat. Cancelling the scholarship meant he would have to play the small fortune the lessons were worth, something he knew his mother could never do when she already worked for hours then came home to ingest dozens of drugs and forget the world.
He would have to stop attending the dance school, the only place that ran dance lessons he could reach without paying additional cost, something he couldn’t really afford when they barely had the spare money to pay for the lessons themselves, the discounted price. It was like his only escape out of his suffering was being blocked, like the universe just wanted him to suffer, to lose his one source of joy when the rest of his life was shit, losing the one ray of hope he had.
“Oh,” was the only thing he could think to say, mouth detached from his brain like his nerves had been severed, “okay.” He swallowed, and suddenly the hysteria was creeping up his throat, the need to scream, the need to cry, and all he could choke out was a pitiful “thank you for telling me.”
The answer seemed to do nothing but worry his teacher more, Sungdeuk looking like he couldn’t decide whether or not to reach out a comforting hand, and Hoseok knew he needed to get out of the room, the building, away from here before something in him snapped. Even now, he felt his chest clenching painfully, his stomach churning and his blood boiling, skin feeling like he was in a furnace and surrounded by flames. He couldn’t breathe, for the first time he couldn’t breathe in the dance studio, but the place still worked as an amplifier of his emotions, the normal numbness nowhere to be found as it gave way to nothing but despair.
“Listen, Hoseok-” the teacher began, moving to stretch out an arm, but Hoseok stepped back quickly like he had just been burned, shaking his head slowly.
He couldn’t do this, couldn’t process this, and there were alarms in his ears, sirens ringing as his whole body went into a meltdown. This couldn’t be happening, not really, but it was and it was too realistic to be a dream, nothing fuzzy or ambiguous, the whole situation sharp enough to cut his skin. He didn’t know what he was going to do, and all the plans he had for his life seemed to be crumbing, his dreams involving dance becoming nothing if he couldn’t even pay for the lessons, if she could barely ever again spend time in the studio, the only place he could feel like he was really alive.
“I’m sorry, Seonsaengnim,” he choked, feeling his throat closing, eyes beginning to water. “My mother is waiting for me,” he excused himself quickly, turning quickly to walk out the door.
“Hoseok-” Sungdeuk called, but he knew he couldn’t turn back, not without breaking, and before he knew it Hoseok was running, sprinting down the stairs and bashing his palms into the front doors to burst out onto the street.
His legs were burning, lungs heaving as he didn’t stop, not for a single moment, feet slamming into the floor with every step he took. It was just as difficult to breathe now as it had been talking to his teacher, and Hoseok’s head was beginning to spin, round and round as though his brain was on a carnival ride. Despite that, he couldn’t stop, couldn’t let everything hit him now, not when the tsunami of emotions ready to overtake his whole being was promising so much pain and anguish. All he could do was run away, all he could do was to keep running in the direction he was sure his house was but he wasn’t really paying attention, he could be going anywhere.
Hoseok’s hands were gripping so tightly onto the straps of his bag that he felt as though the bones of his knuckles were about to break the skin, fingers trembling at the way they were tensed, at the fire in his nerves. He had never felt this way, like he was about to die if he stopped running, like he would fall apart into little pieces if he took a single moment to breathe, even when his lungs were begging him, when he felt as though his heart was beating so loudly that the people in the streets around him could hear, so violently the pulsing organ would just burst out of his chest, shattering his ribs as he bled out onto the side of the road.
Getting to a junction, Hoseok knew he needed to cross, but he couldn’t wait for the traffic lights to turn red, not when his whole being was burning and screaming at him, telling him not to stop, not to have a chance to do anything but run away. Without thinking twice, he ran into the road, almost being hit by a car that was passing by, the driver letting his horn sound as Hoseok narrowly pulled forward. He couldn’t stop, running in front of another car and just narrowly not being hit, not slowing once even when his feet hit the pavement of the other side, still running even when he felt as though he had not a single spec of energy left at all.
He realised he knew where he was, passing by his school without a second glance, and he was over half way back to his home, not having stopped running once since the studio. It meant he was going in the right direction, and that gave him even more reason not to stop, not to pause and breathe when he was so close, so close to reaching where he needed to be. Head still spinning, the images in front of his eyes blackened around the edges, as though he was looking through an old camera, everything fuzzy and pixellated.
Running, he ran by the little corner shop they bought their food from, ran by the post office ran by the little old lady that used to give Hoseok a free lollypop whenever his mother had to go there to pick up a package, the café he used to go to with his father before he left and didn’t look back once. Running, he ran around the corner of a road, not stopping even when he recognised his street, the homes of his neighbours, the buildings metres apart and looking as lonely as Hoseok felt, completely and utterly alone.
There was his house, his front door, and without slowing down, without hesitation, he slammed his hands into the wood, the door flying open to hit the wall behind it with a loud bang. It wasn’t locked, of course it wasn’t when his mother was home, and suddenly his mind was on a different thing, or maybe his mother was being added to the complete turmoil the day had left in his body, another river adding to the flood. Her shoes were at the front door, her bag next to them, waiting as though they were taunting Hoseok.
It was the first time he had stopped running, standing in the middle of their house’s small hallway, chest rising and falling with such desperation he thought he would die. His head was still spinning, from the emotions, from the lack of oxygen, and it was almost like his brain was detached from the rest of his body. Everything around him felt odd, felt out of place, and it was as thought he had stepped into a replica of his house where every single thing was moved just a little one way, or the colours were just a little bit different.
Before he knew what he was doing, Hoseok was moving again, his legs screaming at the action, but it felt as though he was underwater, things happening slowly, the edges blurred, muffled. His head was floating as he started climbing the flight of stairs at the end of the hall next to the door leading to the kitchen, taking one step at a time like he was walking death row, every footfall of his shoes hitting the wooden floor tapping like the grim reaper was copying his actions just an inch behind him.
Hoseok couldn’t bear to look at the pictures on the walls, the pictures that looked so happy, of him as a baby, a toddler, two parents holding hands until it became one parent holding Hoseok’s hand. The last picture was when he was eleven, taken two years ago on the day his mother had saved up enough little funds of money to take them to a circus, where there were clowns and trapeze artists and people doing incredible feats. It had been such a happy day, but now it did nothing but make Hoseok feel worse, reaching one hand before he knew what he was doing to pull it off of the wall, the glass covering the photo smashing as it hit the floor, sliding down the steps to rest at the bottom.
He froze for a moment, just looking at the absent space on the wall, where the paint was slightly discoloured around it from years of damage to leave a rectangle of brighter white. It was oddly entrancing, and Hoseok felt his fingers moving forwards, tracing the line left from the frame, the nail still embedded in the wall from which the picture used to hang. The photo being gone left the wall to be purer, the removal of the image leaving a clean mark where the white wallpaper was no longer hidden, and that thought made Hoseok’s neck turn to look in the direction of the bathroom.
Slowly now, slowly he was walking forwards, his feet dragging behind him as he walked to the bathroom door, the wooden panel that was left ajar. He was taking shallow breaths now, trying not to make a sound as he pushed the door open, a hand on the edge of the wood, not using the handle where he could see traces of white powder resting over the dull metal. The door made a small creaking sound as it was opened, the hinges so old and never having been oiled, the room slowly being revealed as the entrance widened centimetre by centimetre, until it was lightly hitting the rotting tiles on the bathroom wall.
And there, in the middle of the floor, was the sight Hoseok had been greeted with for years, the same scene that by now he could paint by memory, even every little detail. His mother was laid on the floor of the bathroom, the cold tiles stained with smudges of grey and black, water dripping from the pipe under the sink and darkening a small patch of her uniform from the salon. A needle was still in her arm, the surrounding skin scarred with evidence of hundreds of needle marks; thousands of pin pricks, and this time Hoseok didn’t move forward to take it out.
She looked almost peaceful, the way she was laying on the floor was messy and yet her face was lacking the lines it almost always had, eyes closed with eyelashes never fluttering, upturned in graceful arches. This was the most tranquil he ever sees her, when she was gone to the world because of the substances in her body, and something in him was prompting him to move her. Gently, as though he was touching a glass figure, he moved her arms to be next to her sides, hands resting over one another on her stomach. He straightened her legs, moved her head to face the ceiling, arranged her hair in a shape like a halo surrounding her face, still with the needle in her arm.
She looked beautiful, she looked dead, and Hoseok took a moment just to stare at her, took a moment before he looked over to the sink, where she still had drugs she hadn’t used, the ones he was sure she would inject into herself tomorrow. It made something in him snap, the reminder that this image wasn’t new, was one Hoseok had been suffering with for years now, placing weight on his shoulders that no thirteen year old should have. Why should he have to suffer when she looked so peaceful now, why should it be him that picks up after her and makes sure she’s okay when it should be the other way around, when she should do it for him as his mother?
It was unfair, it was unnatural, it was wrong, and it made an anger bubble up inside Hoseok’s body, from his gut to his stomach to his chest, rising up his throat until his vision was stained red with it. Why should he be the one to be punished with this? What did he do wrong to deserve this? Why did his father have to leave him without a second glance, why did his mother have to be so selfish that she only thought of herself? It was wrong, wrong, wrong, and the anger was making the word be screamed through his mind between his ears, wrong, wrong, wrong.
With acid in his veins, Hoseok span on his heel to go out of the bathroom, leaving his mother in her position on the floor, like a corpse ready to be laid in a grave. He almost tripped down the stairs with how he was scrabbling to move, and he came face to face with the broken picture at the bottom of the staircase, just staring down at a younger him grinning at the camera, large red tents behind his back. It had been such a good day, one of the last good days he could actually remember, before everything fell apart to where he was now.
The large circus tents had been massive, so tall they seemed to ouch the sky, and even when he and his mother were playing carnival games outside in wait of the show, he had been entranced with the sight of the red and white striped fabric. They had thrown balls at cans to try and win sweets, tried to toss a hoop over a peg, but Hoseok had eventually won a toy on an old dance machine, the flashing lights making him feel euphoric as he chose out a little puppy soft toy. His mother had been smiling the whole time, clutching Hoseok’s hand in his own as though she would never let go.
Despite the fun the games had been, Hoseok’s favourite moment was the actual show. Watching people do what seemed to be incredible feats, a woman who could bend her body to fit in a box, a man who could order lions to do things like jump through hoops, a quartet of people who would toss each other as they swung on wires so high up Hoseok couldn’t see where they began, not setting one foot wrong. It had all been amazing, but his mind was drawn to one image in particular, where Hoseok had held his breath for so long he almost made himself pass out with how nervous and excited he was.
It was when a man came out, dressed in a red and gold waistcoat with nothing underneath, black trousers and heavy boots. He carried items Hoseok didn’t understand the meaning of until there was a flame, and the man was putting something in his mouth and suddenly he was breathing fire, a plume of heat flying up into the sky. They had turned down the lights, and the silhouette of the man, his top hat tall and the tips of the long back of his waistcoat, looked nothing but otherworldly, like he was a sorcerer from an undiscovered land and performing magic in front of their very eyes.
The fire was what was at the front of Hoseok’s mind now; the beautiful flames bursting into the air like nothing on Earth could stop it, like it was indestructible. Fire that could destroy, but could cleanse, and it was that ember of a thought that made him slowly walk to the kitchen, passing the old creaking fridge that always hummed, passing the microwave that always beeped in an uneven rhythm, missing beats and making sounds too shrill to bear. Opening a draw, he looked past the knives and forks to a little box at the back, leaning his fingers into the open draw to pull out the box of matches.
With careful touches, he slipped a little wooden match from the box, striking it on the rough side to create a little flame, the fire eating up the wood slowly like a feast. Hoseok just watched it burn, watched until it almost reached his fingertips and he waved it to put it out, dropping the still glowing wood onto the kitchen floor. It was like an idea emerged in his head, a solution to so many of his worries, his problems. He loved his mother, he loved his mother enough to end her suffering for her, would do the merciful thing and send her to a better place, where she could be happy, really happy.
In that moment, it was like he was possessed by something else, someone else telling his hand to reach for the oil that was next to the stove, to make it fall everywhere all over the floor, the kitchen surfaces. Walking out of the room, he kept flicking the oil around him, through the hallway, into the small dining room and the lounge, the ratty sofa and old TV. He stopped at the stairs, didn’t want to see his mother’s prone body again, knowing there was no way she was going to wake up for hours and hours, she wouldn’t feel a thing. He knew because when he first started having to move her, she was never considerate enough to always overdose in the bathroom, and he had had to drag her up the stairs, had dropped her multiple times and she had never stirred, not even when she had been bleeding from the fall. This was mercy; this was the right thing to do.
Standing in the doorway, Hoseok had nothing with him, he had left his bag in the bathroom with his mother, only had the clothes on his body, the shoes on his feet. He left everything, and he knew everything would be cleansed now, everything would be purified by the flame he conjured by striking a match, backing away before he threw it in the direction of his open front door, nobody around to watch him, not one member of an audience. It was only Hoseok as he witnessed the flame hit the floor, the shining oil over the wooden boards, and suddenly the flames were bursting, growing, engulfing his home like it was starving.
He didn’t stay long enough to watch much more. Throwing the box of matches into the flaming house, Hoseok felt the heat on his skin, the sheer power from the fire which was cleansing his whole life, letting him emerge from the flames new, a phoenix, to live a new life away from this suffering, away from everything that brought him grief. Miming one more loving kiss in the direction of the bathroom, aiming straight for the closed window, Hoseok turned, and began to run again.
Half the houses that were around them were empty, and none would fall with his, not when they were so far apart and the ground between them was nothing but concrete, only small trees far away on the pavement, nowhere near enough to the house to be eaten too. The other half was filled with people he had barely met, his mother always the one to interact with the neighbours, and they wouldn’t miss him, probably wouldn’t even notice that he was gone. He was saving them too, saving them from finding out about his mother, from feeling grief and pity and trying to help when it was hopeless, when everything was hopeless.
Hearing the fire alarm finally going off, the old thing so faulty it never picked up when Hoseok burned food when trying to cook, he fastened his pace even more, not knowing where he was going but just running. It was all he could do, escape the scene he had just left behind, run from the home he had left behind, where he could see black smoke rising into the sky. It the end of the street, he looked back, and could see that the whole house was engulfed, the flames shining from the upstairs rooms, licking the roof as it grew higher and higher.
After that, he didn’t turn back again, not even once, not even to try and see whether he could still see the smoke rising into the sky. His running from earlier in the day had left him exhausted, especially when he had also attended the dance class, and soon his legs felt as though they were going to give out on him, forcing him to slow to a walk. His body left as though he had been in his house, he had been burned just like his mother would be now, but unlike her he wasn’t dead to the world, would feel every inch of fire as it overtook his whole being.
Looking up, he didn’t know where he was. He had been running with no direction in mind, and he didn’t recognise anywhere around him, didn’t have a phone, it being left in his bag in the bathroom. The roads were crowded, full of people dressed nicely, and it was only now that Hoseok realised the sky had become as dark as the smoke he had watched reach the clouds, night embracing the world to hide the horrors you could see in the day. Women in fancy dresses, men in clean suits, music coming from bars, chatter from restaurants, walking by hotels and shops.
He managed to almost reach the end of the street, but it was outside a tall building that his legs finally gave up on him, making him stumble until he fell outside the building, close enough to the wall that he could move out of people’s way, huddling in a ball. It must have been a restaurant, because he could smell the most delicious foods inside, the scent of cooking meat making his mouth water. He hadn’t eaten since lunch, and it was probably late evening now, but he definitely didn’t have enough money to eat at a place like this, the customers dropped off in sports cars or other fancy vehicles in front of the building.
August was still cold, and the warmth of the memory of the fire was disappearing as quickly as it came, leaving Hoseok’s body shivering in his short sleeved shirt, trying to huddle into himself even more to try and stop the chills crawling up his spine. He regretted not taking his coat before he fled, and felt fatigue melting into his skin as he rested his head on his knees, arms wrapped around himself to try and do anything to ward the cold away. It didn’t work, but Hoseok was too tired to even care anymore, feeling his eyes fluttering shut as sleep attempted to take over and let him rest.
It worked for what felt like no more than a minute, but he woke like a flash when he felt a hand on his shoulder, prompting him to shuffle away in panic. As his eyes stopped blurring, he focused on the person in front of him, the tall man who was beside another, the pair looking down at him. It was intimidating, and Hoseok felt himself shaking more in fear than cold now, trying to control his breathing when his lungs were trying to get him to bring in air faster.
He watched with hesitance as one crouched down, gracefully squatting before him so that their eyes were more level, even if the other still had some height in his favour. It was now that Hoseok could really see his face, dark hair, soft, plush lips, kind dark eyes. He was handsome, like a model, like the celebrities Hoseok watched on the TV when he was alone and his mother was unconscious in her bed. Something about the man was familiar, but Hoseok couldn’t put his finger on it, the elder most likely someone he had seen in the news because they had enough money to buy his whole city.
“Hello,” the man spoke, a soft smile growing over his lips as he seemed to be trying to sooth Hoseok.
“Hello,” Hoseok returned after a moment of hesitance, his voice quieter than the other’s, but it still got him rewarded with a smile.
He had always been taught not to talk to strangers, not to just give people a conversation because they approached and asked, there being bad people with bad intentions everywhere. Despite that, Hoseok didn’t know what he had to lose at this point. He had nothing, nothing but his life, and even that was becoming more and more hopeless as he realised he had nothing, could go nowhere. At least now he was talking to someone, was being looked at with kind eyes, and the emotions being summoned in his body were full of comfort.
“I’m Seokjin, and this is my boyfriend, Namjoon,” the first man introduced himself, gesturing to his partner as he said the second name, and again they seemed to ring a bell in Hoseok’s head, the names again making them seem familiar. “What’s your name?”
“Hoseok,” the younger answered quietly, and Seokjin reached forwards, this time Hoseok not flinching away, allowing a soft hand to be set on his cheek.
The touch was almost tender, even more careful than the one his mother used with him, and it almost echoed what he had been told a parent’s touch was meant to be like. Unknowingly, he leaned into the contact, grateful for the affection after such a long time of nothing, of only getting a kiss from his mother late at night when he had moved her unresponsive body into her bed and she was thanking him, apologising. This was nice, it was what Hoseok dreamed of at night, and he didn’t see the harm in embracing it.
These people seemed nice, the other man crouching down to their height as well, a soft smile with dimples across his face. Maybe they could give him hope; maybe they could help him, give Hoseok the opportunity to live again, to have a life worth surviving through. He wouldn’t tell them what he had done, wouldn’t scare them away like that, and so when they asked where his parents were all he said was that he had run away, that his father had left and his mother was an addict, and he couldn’t take it anymore, couldn’t live like that. It received soft looks, soft words, and Hoseok felt hope as Namjoon also reached forward to brush a gentle hand through his hair.
“Let’s get you out of the cold.”