Chapter Text
“No.”
“Ma’am, please—”
“No.” She tightens her grip on the bag of medicinal herbs, tips of her nails turning yellow. Even though she’s not scowling or frowning, her face is harsh, eyebrows drawn together in either frustration or defensiveness.
“Please, I need—”
“I said no. Get out.”
Jeongguk stops begging, but he doesn’t move. He stares, biting the inside of his cheek, hoping she’ll change her mind.
There’s a kid behind him in line that asks, “Why is Grandma being mean to him?”
“Because he’s a monster,” the father replies. “Monsters don’t deserve anything good.”
Jeongguk sighs and turns to the exit, keeping his eyes on the ground. He ignores the dragon standing right by the exit, the one that moved into the village recently with his weyr. He looks down, shoves his hands into his pocket and fists them in there, letting his bitterness take over a little bit, because if he were to do it in plain view, the accusations would only get worse.
He wonders what they told the new weyr when they asked why the old one moved out. Dragons don’t like relocating, don’t like making new homes. Unless it’s by birth of a child, new village members are rare. He wonders why the weyr moved from their old home, and why they came here instead.
He sighs when he looks up, a wide berth of space around him. It’s getting worse and harder to deal with, the loneliness, the pariah. Although he’s gotten warnings not to come back, he’s never been flat-out refused service before—business is business, after all—but as the red of his scales deepen, the more terrified the people become.
He can’t say he never saw this coming, but he never expected it to come so soon. Maybe sometime in his thirties, but it seems late-twenties are as far as their kindness is starting to stretch.
It’s maddening, the loneliness. He often talks to himself to make up for the lack of it with others, which only makes the villagers scared of him even more. He’s finally gone mad , they whisper.
Often, he imagines all he yearns for in the form of a faceless lover: love, touches, and comfort so warm it sinks deep into his bones; sometimes his imagination feels so real that when he calls out for his person, the lack of response confuses him before the loneliness comes crashing in full force.
He’s tired.
He’s so tired of being ignored and refused things that any other person would get without hesitance.
But he can’t do anything to stop it. He’s tried, he’s tried so many times. He’s tried so hard, but never to any avail. The people are too bigoted to see anything other than the child that’s rumoured to have killed his own family in a fit of rage.
He’s considered leaving—of course he has—but he doesn’t know the location of any other dragon villages, and no one would tell him a thing. It’s infuriating how they want him gone, but won’t let him leave.
He’s even considered leaving to live in one of the many human villages, which is nearly unheard of for a dragon, but it’s not a better option than what he currently has. That wouldn't get rid of the loneliness, no matter how many human friends he makes. A human can never fill the heart of a dragon’s.
And if they ever find out that he’s a dragon, his head will be put on a stake.
No, human villages aren’t a possibility.
Jeongguk sighs lightly, eyelids drooping. He shouldn’t go outside in his dragon form anymore, let alone the next dragon flights, where everyone in the village gets together and flies to the mountains for a couple days in their dragon form when the humans relocate in the winter. They have dedicated a few days each month for it; they can’t freely enjoy being in their dragon forms because of the humans, and he because of the people.
When he arrives home, his person is nowhere to be found, so he smiles wearily and collapses into bed, bringing the warm covers up to his chin.
“Welcome home, sweetheart,” his person says as he enters the room, snuggling in behind him. He throws an arm over Jeongguk and nuzzles into his nape, then pecks it fondly. The touch is light, weak, but it’s warm, warmer than anything. “Good day?”
“No,” Jeongguk says, sad again. “The herbalist didn’t let me buy the medicine.”
“I’m sorry, Gukkie.” His person is sad too now. Whatever saddens Jeongguk saddens him, it’s a rule. “I’m sorry I can’t come with you to fight all those people for you.”
“It’s okay.” It’s not, but he’s honestly glad that his person can’t come outside. He doesn’t want him to witness or be on the brunt end of the people’s treatment. It’s dehumanizing, humiliating. Something he’s used to, but will be like a slap in the face for his person.
He sighs. “It’s not okay. But let’s not think about that, alright? I’m here and you’re here, let’s enjoy each other.” His person cuddles into Jeongguk even more, kisses his jaw and then starts rubbing his tummy. Oh, his person knows just what to do to cheer him up. But he’s going to fall asleep if they keep this up for long.
“Okay, dearheart. You sleepy?” Jeongguk smiles, warm. It’s easy to forget about the village when he has his person with him. “Is that why you’re rubbing my tummy?”
“I’m doing what? ” he giggles. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Okay,” Jeongguk says. If his person wants to sleep, then they'll sleep. He’s probably tired if he’s doing this so early—they haven’t even had dinner yet. “Let’s sleep. Love you.”
“Love you too.” His person kisses his nape.
-
“Get out of here!” the shopkeeper yells. She’s the same one from yesterday, refusing to let him buy medicinal herbs. She’s the only person that sells the type of herbs he needs, so if she refuses to sell them, there’s no one else he can turn to.
“I need these.”
“I said no.” She points to the door of the shop. “Out.”
“Please, ma’am—”
“Jihyun!” she yells. “Jihyun, get this man out of here!”
A man around his own age comes down from the staircase in the corner. Jihyun takes one look at Jeongguk and purses his lips, coming closer. “We don’t allow drug addicts in here.”
Offence fills Jeongguk and he bristles, brows furrowing. “I’m not—”
“Regardless, you’re not allowed in here.” He grabs Jeongguk’s arm and pulls, the grip so tight that it hurts, and Jeongguk gasps, trying to get it off . He leaves the herbs on the counter, not wanting to make this scene any bigger.
Jihyun lets go of him when they’re outside and immediately closes the door behind him, which is usually kept open until the sun starts setting and the cold starts creeping in. It’s midday.
Jeongguk sighs and starts heading home. He’ll go shopping for grit for his animals tomorrow. His chickens are running low on feed anyway, so it’ll be good to restock on those things.
“Hey!” Someone yells, their footsteps loud. “Hey, excuse me!” It’s probably a clerk giving someone something they forgot in the shop. Nothing to do with him. There’s a tap on his arm and Jeongguk flinches, nearly tripping over himself. “Oh, sorry.”
He turns around, eyes wide, shocked. “Um.” It’s the person from yesterday, the one whose weyr recently moved to the village.
“Here,” he says. For the way he looks, his voice is deep. In his hand is the bag that Jeongguk was forced to let go of.
“Oh.” He doesn’t take it. “Why?”
“I . . . I don’t know.” He’s confused, it seems. He licks his lips and his eyebrows are furrowed. He doesn’t retract his arm at all, still offering the bag. “It angered me that you were refused service.”
“Do you know why?”
“Because your scale colours are different.”
Jeongguk nods. So he doesn’t know the full reason yet. He takes the bag. “Thank you. You probably shouldn’t do this again, though.” He takes the bag and turns around without explaining. He’ll find out soon enough anyway. He doesn’t look back at the dragon, doesn’t need to, and looks down as he walks.
When he gets home, his person is happy to see him, as always whenever they’re present, and comes to the door to greet him. “Good day?”
“Mm,” Jeongguk hums, taking off his shoes. He shakes the bag of herbs the same way his father used to when he surprised them with desserts from the baker: with a knowing, teasing smile, even though the herbs are for himself; shaking the bag in a teasing way, like he’s expecting little children to run to him and cling on his leg, begging to have it all right away. “I got the herbs.”
His person smiles, though he looks pale. “That’s great. Do you want me to make some tea for you?”
“No thanks.” He heads to the minikitchen and turns on the kettle himself.
“You never let me do anything for you,” his person pouts, sitting down at the table.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart, but you know I just prefer doing these things myself.”
Jeongguk doesn’t tell him that it’s because of his memory. Every time Jeongguk asks him to do something, he forgets, no matter what it is, and Jeongguk ends up doing everything himself anyway. Past conversations about it have led to tears, and Jeongguk is not eager to have another one.
“I know, but you always take care of me. I want to take care of you too.”
Jeongguk comes close to put his arms around his neck and kisses his ear. “You do take care of me. You have no idea how well cared for you make me feel.”
His person pats a hand on Jeongguk’s arm and sighs. “If you say so.”
“Don’t think like that. You’re enough, dearheart. I love you. I love you the way you are.” Jeongguk trails kisses from his ear down his jaw. He’s thin and a bit cold, like always, and it worries him, but they’re working on it.
“Even though I disappear a lot?”
“I love you . I love you so much that I can’t live without you. You’re not here sometimes, sure, but that’s not something that stops me from loving you.”
“You always know what to say. I’m beginning to think you have empathetic superpowers.”
Jeongguk sighs into his hair. When his hands start to tremble again, he fists them. The craving is strong. He trails kisses down his neck to make sure his person doesn’t notice, relieved when his person closes his eyes and tilts his chin up to give more access. The kettle finishes boiling soon, and he removes his arms from around his person’s neck and goes to make tea.
He pours himself a cup and takes a spoonful of the herbs to mix it in, spilling a bit on the counter. He blows on the cup and drinks half of it before his hands stop shaking, and he swipes the spilled medicine into the bag again before he turns around to put the cup on the table. “Do you want some?” He doesn’t mean the medicinal mix, just regular tea.
“No thanks. I had a cup while you were gone.”
“‘Kay.” He’s not sure he believes his person, but he doesn’t push. He pulls out a seat and sits, taking his person’s hand into his own, and sips at his tea again. “You’re reading?” He gestures to the book at the corner of the table.
His person nods eagerly, picking it up to show him. “You know I don’t like reading much, but this is interesting. I haven’t been able to put it down until you arrived.”
He smiles. “Well, don’t hold back on my account. Continue. You reading is an occasion to celebrate.”
His person shoots a glare and Jeongguk giggles. He opens the book right away, though he takes his hand out from under Jeongguk’s to lean back in his chair. He blows upwards to get his bangs out of the way but it only makes them cover his eyes even more, so Jeongguk leans forward to brush them aside instead. His person smiles warmly, as always, and Jeongguk smiles too.
That person at the shop was nice enough to buy Jeongguk two weeks before the shaking starts up again. He would’ve put more in the bag if he knew he would’ve gotten them anyway.
He sips the tea.
He’ll worry about that another time.
-
Something grabs at his leg. Jeongguk flinches, jerking his leg forward and looking down at the cause. It’s a child. A girl.
She’s still holding onto his pants.
He slowly crouches and she lets go. He gently puts the bags of feed on the ground and ends up a little lower than her chin.
“My mommy said that you’re a monster.”
Ouch. Kid or not, she could’ve softened her words at least a little bit. He licks his lips, tongue staying out for a second longer to give him time. He’s not sure what for. “Then why are you talking to me? Do you not believe her?”
“Not really. You haven’t done anything. Or are you like those cranky old men in the books? The ones that chase kids off their lawn even though they were just getting a ball?” Her hands are relaxed, hanging in a normal stance by her side and her facial features are mostly relaxed, brows furrowed in clear confusion. She’s confident, not fearful or hesitant despite her mother calling him a monster right in front of her, probably one of many. It’s so different from the adults and youth he usually talks to that it’s kind of scary. Maybe her mother hasn’t yet told her why he’s a monster.
He shakes his head. “No, I’m not like them. But those cranky old men aren’t monsters, they’re just cranky old men.”
“Oh.” She’s pouting. He’s never made a child pout before—they usually run away if they hadn’t already realized who he was: the red monster . She grabs some loose strands of hair on her face and puts them behind her ear. “Then what is a monster? Why are you called a monster?”
He shrugs. “A monster is a monster, there is no specific definition. Usually, though, it’s something you call a very bad person.” He shrugs again, pushing his own lips into a pout. It’s weird. He’s not sure why exactly he’s pouting, but he’s not sure what else to change his facial expression to. “It’s up to you to decide.”
She tilts her head now, furrowing her brows even deeper before letting it all go and straightening her head again. “Then why—”
“Miran!” A woman shrieks.
The girl looks behind her to the woman running towards them in horror. She grabs the girl’s arm and quickly drags her away, looking behind her as if she’s expecting Jeongguk to chase after them and—
And do what exactly? Hurt them? Threaten them? Maul them?
He sighs, turning around to grab the bags of feed, ignoring the turned heads. He grunts as he lifts them, and pivots to start walking, but nearly bumps into someone. It’s the same person that bought his herbs, the same person that watched him get refused service twice.
The person smiles. “Hey. We keep bumping into each other.”
Jeongguk nods, although he’s pretty sure this time had to do more with the person himself rather than coincidence because there aren’t any intersections or turns for the next little while.
“Might as well make use of it,” he shrugs. He puts his hand out. “I’m Taehyung. My weyr and I are new to this town.”
Jeongguk looks at the hand but doesn’t take it, then looks back up at Taehyung. “Jeongguk.”
Taehyung seems confused, but when he looks at Jeongguk’s hands, it’s obvious when he sees that both his hands are preoccupied. His eyes widen and he sheepishly giggles, using the same hand to scratch at the back of his head. He doesn’t know how Taehyung didn’t see them in the first place, the bags are up to his collarbones.
“Those look heavy,” he says, hands coming down to rest at his side.
Jeongguk nods. He doesn’t understand why Taehyung’s trying to talk to him. Even if he doesn’t know the full story, it’s obvious that he’s an outcast. He’s witnessed what happens and how he gets treated. Who would want to talk to him? Why?
“Would you like any help?” Taehyung nods his head to the feed.
He shakes his head. “I’m used to it. Thanks, though.”
Taehyung at least understands that they should go their own ways now. “Alright. See you around,” he smiles.
“Yeah.”
He doesn’t realize how wound up he was until after he watches Taehyung leave. His head feels blissfully relaxed again and his heart is pumping as if he’s been running from a boar in his human form. There’s adrenaline pumping through him that he’s just realizing he has.
He’s so used to being alone that properly socializing with other people is scary. He doesn’t like it.
He huffs, starting to walk home again.
He often yearns for people to befriend him, but the moment someone tries even the slightest bit—no, Taehyung’s not trying to befriend him. No one would. Taehyung might not have found out the full reason he’s an outcast, but when he does, Taehyung will treat him like everyone else.
Either way, in social situations, he becomes an anxious mess.
He’s a joke. A big, fat, contradicting joke.
-
“Gukkie, my Gukkie,” his person sing-songs, plopping himself into bed and spooning Jeongguk right away, sneaking his hand under Jeongguk’s shirt to rub his tummy. His person must’ve just come home; he wasn’t anywhere to be found when Jeongguk looked around for him half an hour ago. His person’s hand is a bit cold, and the touch is light. Jeongguk shivers.
He closes the book, keeping his finger between the pages. “Mm?”
“Good news. Chi-Chi finally laid her first egg.”
Jeongguk smiles. Chi-Chi is their youngest chicken, the last one that hatched before they killed the rooster for New Year’s dinner. They tell each chicken apart by dying their tail ends. Chi-Chi’s is a vibrant pink.
“How soft is the shell?”
“Considering this is her first egg, it’s pretty hard. The new diet you’ve been trying recently is better.”
“The new diet we’ve been trying,” he corrects. His person doesn’t like to take credit, which Jeongguk thinks is stupid. They live together, so naturally they’ll take care of their land together too. It’s a joint effort. It always will be. “You look after them just as much as I do.”
“But you like to try new things. I would’ve stuck to the diet the traveller suggested.”
The traveller seemed to be a nice person, and Jeongguk tried his luck with talking to her when he heard that she has some experience with growing chickens. She gave lots of information about the diet and routine she used, but suggested he start with something else, with a basic diet that they eventually discovered wasn’t enough. He forgot she said the basic diet was only for chicks, so now they’re trying the one that the traveller personally uses.
He snorts. “Lies. You’re the one who suggested that the diet might be why they were sickly in the first place.”
His person huffs. “Okay, but I wouldn’t have known what to do.”
“Knowing the problem is half the solution. Finding a solution is the other half. Therefore we both did the work.”
“Okay, okay. There’s no arguing with you.”
“Good,” he smiles. He puts a proper bookmark in the book, places it on the bedside table and rolls over to pepper his person in kisses, all over his face, loving the giggles that shake up the skin underneath his lips even though it’s cold. “I read a line in this book a couple pages ago,” he says. “I’m modifying it.”
“How dare you taint the author’s words,” they giggle.
Jeongguk smiles. “You are my best thing.”
His person grabs onto his hand and just holds it, then squeezes, and then they turn around to press a big, soft but loud kiss onto Jeongguk’s lips. It’s exaggerated and his person kisses more teeth than lips because Jeongguk smiles, but his person, with what he thinks is a soft face, says, “You’re my best thing too. What’s the original line?”
“You are your best thing.”
He thinks he sees them smile softly, happily, and even though his person looks away, Jeongguk knows they’re still smiling.
-
It’s one of those days.
Out of nowhere comes the aching limbs and joints that don’t allow him to get out of bed, and the loneliness that always, always accompanies. His person isn’t in the room even though Jeongguk has already woken up from two naps. Actually, since last night, he hasn’t seen his person at all.
It’s strange, but he thinks nothing more of it. His person shouldn’t pay attention to him twenty-four seven, even though it would be nice, because they have their own things to do and are allowed to enjoy themselves.
Jeongguk slowly gets out of bed and plods to the kitchen, taking small steps. Because of the open floor, he can see that his person isn’t in the living room, so his person is either drawing in the reading room or outside with the animals. Or he’s just not home at all.
It’s way past lunchtime, but not yet dinner time, so Jeongguk won’t call for his person yet. He opens the fridge and takes out a container of leftovers from yesterday. Opening it on the counter with a plate beside it, he smiles when he sees that some of it’s been eaten. He puts some of it on his plate, not too hungry himself, and puts it in the microwave before putting the container back in the fridge.
When it’s done warming up, he eats slowly. Even though he hasn’t put much on the plate, he’s full by the time there’s only about two bites left. He separates them into small sections and eats away at them, puts the plate in the sink and goes back to bed alone.
Body sore and aching to the bone, he has no trouble falling asleep again.
-
The next time he meets Taehyung, they literally bump into each other.
Jeongguk picks up the books he dropped and helps Taehyung gather the little wooden sculptures that fell out of his bag.
“Sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going,” Taehyung says, looking downwards, gently picking up the wooden figures. They’re about hand length, carved into animals.
“It’s okay, accidents like these aren’t anyone’s fault.” There aren’t any duplicates, he notices, putting the figures into the bag.
“Oh,” Taehyung whispers.
Jeongguk looks up. Taehyung’s already staring at him, eyes wide, and isn’t moving. “S-Sorry,” he whispers. “I’m sorry.”
So he knows now.
Jeongguk doesn’t say anything, but he looks down now, at the hand holding a rabbit. It’s cute, childish and chubby, not what an actual bunny looks like. Probably to provide a prototype for the seamstresses that make children’s toys.
He puts it in the bag, and Taehyung hurries to clean up the last of the figures. Taehyung doesn’t say anything else as he stands up, and leaves in a hurry.
Jeongguk picks up his books and continues his way to the library, biting the inside of his cheek.
He didn’t think it would be this shocking when Taehyung finally runs away from him. Actually, he didn’t think he’d be shocked at all . People leave when he’s seen, they always have. It’s nothing new.
The shop, the stall, the area—they leave. And if they don’t, then there’s at least a ten foot vicinity between them. Everyone except the workers, if there are any.
Taehyung will now be no different—has never been any different. Why is he shocked?
Jeongguk waltzes in the library, drops off his old books in a ‘sign-in’ bin and walks through the fiction aisles, not sparing any thoughts to the way people flee the aisle when they see him.
Like this, he gets three books and walks to the corner, where there’s a small sitting area. There’s no one there, which is good. He sits down on a sofa and puts the bottom two books in his mini-stack on the ground, beside his feet. Then he takes his shoes off and sits criss-cross, feet cold on the faux-leather because his socks are thin, and starts reading.
He gets through the first two chapters before he feels weird, his sixth sense acting up, and looks upwards. There’s a man leaning against the bookshelf with his arms crossed, a good distance away, looking at him with a frown. Jeongguk’s never seen him before. Their town isn’t small by any means, but it’s small enough that everyone knows everyone else by faces if not names. He’s probably part of Taehyung’s weyr.
After staring at each other for a couple seconds, the man pushes himself up and comes closer. Jeongguk glances at the page number before closing it, then grabs the other two books on the ground. He slips his shoes on, but doesn’t get up because the man is close enough that can’t stand up without bumping into him. They look at each other, but nothing is said or done.
He flips through the closed book before he makes himself stop. He can’t appear nervous or people will talk, and then they’ll start pushing and hitting him again. The braver ones will start damaging his property again.
“You’re Jeon Jeongguk? The murderer?” the man finally asks.
Jeon Jeongguk, the murderer, the monster, the evil. The one people tell their children tales of at night. Jeon Jeongguk, the broken, the lonely, the yearning. The victim of coincidence and rumours. “Yes.”
“I dislike and distrust you,” he says quietly but firmly, “but I personally don’t have anything against you. If you hurt a single hair on my Taehyung, or anyone else I love, then my weyr and I will kill you.” He then grins smugly, discontent dripping from every pore of his face. “There’s a reason we uprooted, and I doubt you want to find out.”
Jeongguk doesn’t say anything. Taehyung’s not going to talk to him anymore anyway, so why is this person threatening him? Does he think that just because Taehyung doesn’t want to talk to him anymore, Jeongguk will go after him and make him? That because Taehyung was friendly to him at first, Jeongguk expects Taehyung to continue acting friendly for the rest of their lives? Well it doesn’t really matter anyway. People have assumed the worst of him, and will continue to. This man might even think of Jeongguk doing something worse to Taehyung than just threatening him to continue acting friendly.
His face goes back to the slight frown from before, eyes hard and jaw clenching. “I’m Namjoon, don’t forget it.” He turns around and leaves.
Jeongguk waits a couple seconds after Namjoon disappears into the bookshelves before getting up, then goes to the receptionist to sign the books out and walks home.
He hugs his person for so long that they start to worry, so he explains the situation and even cries a little bit, feeling even worse when his person starts crying too. He doesn’t like crying because it makes the skin around his eyes dry, but he does feel a little better by the end of it. His person puts a little bit of a serum around his eyes to moisturize it, then tells him to take a nap, so he does, and wakes up twenty minutes later to his person holding a cup of tea, smiling down at him as he brushes his hair away from his face.
“You haven’t had your medication yet,” his person says.
Jeongguk hums and closes his eyes, basking in the touch. A minute later, he sits up and leans into his person’s chest, taking the teacup into his own hands. He drinks it slowly, and his person hugs him as he slowly wakes up.
“I fed the animals and watered the plants while you were gone. The chickens are roaming around right now.”
“Mm,” he hums, taking the final sip. “How are the other animals? They weren’t causing any trouble, right?”
“Nope, no trouble. But I went through our stock and we don’t have enough feed to last through the winter.”
“I’ll get some soon,” he says. They don’t intend to stack up for the whole winter, but enough to last at least halfway through so they don’t have to go shopping for a while.
His person kisses him, and Jeongguk leans into him further. His person is so warm and full of love.
-
“Jeongguk!” Taehyung says, waving at him with a smile.
Jeongguk licks his lips, unsure as to why Taehyung is happy to see him or even trying to get his attention. He learned the truth, so he should be as scared as he was the last time they met, if not even more. Why did his behaviour suddenly change?
Taehyung’s in front of him now, and a woman on the parallel side of the street brings her son closer to herself, hiding him from Jeongguk’s view. “How are you? Carrying something heavy today too, I see.”
Taehyung was just like that woman a few days ago. What changed? “Hi. I’m good.”
“I’m good too! It’s been a while since we’ve seen each other,” he smiles.
It hasn’t. They saw each other just two days ago. “Yeah,” he still nods.
“Would you like some help?”
Jeongguk shakes his head. “No, thank you.”
“I’d really like to though.” He opens his arms.
Jeongguk stares at the arms, then at Taehyung’s face, which is open and happy, and his wide eyes look like they’re hoping, as if he’s hoping to spend some more time together. Maybe he’s just being delusional. Why would Taehyung ever hope to spend time with him? Still, the longer Jeongguk just looks at Taehyung, the longer his face goes without change.
“Okay.” Nervously, although he tries not to show it, he suggests: “But I need more of these anyway, so why don’t we go back to get some more? You can carry those.”
“Sure. Why don’t you use a cart, though?”
They turn around and start going back to the shop, closeby enough that Jeongguk knows it won’t tire his arms much for the journey home. “I don’t have one.”
“But you can buy or rent one, can’t you?”
He can’t. The owner of those products told him that if he ever saw Jeongguk in his shop again, he’d send men to take all of his animals in the cover of the night. “I can’t.”
“Ah,” Taehyung nods, as if that explains everything. As if it’s that easy to accept that Jeongguk’s a murderer and isn’t allowed the things everyone else is because of it. “How’s your day so far?”
“The usual.”
“And what’s that?”
Oh, is he actually interested? “Well, I woke up, had breakfast, fed the animals and gathered eggs, and then cooked enough for lunch and dinner. Then my . . .” He can’t tell him about his person. He can’t tell him about the way they started talking about their dream life, cuddling in bed—if humans didn’t exist, if they were rich, if they didn’t have a past. “I lounged outside in my dragon form and then read a little bit,” he lies, “but my bookmark got lost so I had to search for the page. And then I came here.”
“That sounds nice.” Taehyung nods as if he’s imagining it, as if he’s imagining Jeongguk care for animals and do something as bland as reading. “A leisure day.”
Jeongguk nods. They face the shop then, and Jeongguk stops, bothered by the fact that he can’t ask the question back. Will Taehyung think he’s not interested in his day? That’s rude, especially in the beginning stages of . . . whatever this is. “You can carry this much?” He gestures to the three bags of feed he already has in his arms. “For half an hour?” Taehyung nods. “Okay, then.”
He puts the bags down beside the entrance and turns around to tell Taehyung, “Stay.” Oh, wait, that’s not how you talk to other people, that’s how you talk to animals, oh no—
But Taehyung nods easily, no signs of offence at all, so Jeongguk sighs in relief and goes inside to buy five bags—three of the exact same kind he already has, a smaller one of bird seeds so that his person can feed the last of the birds for the season, and another smaller bag of corn. When he goes to the cash register, he’s a little short on money. He’s embarrassed, but tries not to show it as he tells the scared cashier.
The cashier nods, and says, “That’s okay! For you, we can do half-price for the bird seeds.”
Jeongguk furrows his brows, about to tell her that he can just put the bag back, but it seems that his expression only scares her even more.
“Or”—she grabs the money and flips through it—“we can just let you have it for free! It wouldn’t be a problem at all.” She hands him a small wad of cash, the change of the total price minus the bird seeds.
He sighs and shakes his head, takes the money, then piles the bags and picks them up, heading outside.
“Hey,” Taehyung smiles, pushing himself off the wall.
“Hi. Can you put the two bags at the top on the original pile?”
“Sure.” He takes them down one at a time and then looks at Jeongguk in question.
“Here,” he says, and hands the bags to Taehyung when he gets the hint and holds his arms out. He bends to get his own bags, harder because it’s heavier and on the ground instead of a counter he can pull to the edge of. He picks it up as quick as he can though, because he doesn’t want to keep Taehyung waiting. The bags are up to his nose, and he sneezes before adjusting his grip for a couple seconds.
When they start walking again, Jeongguk says, “What about you? How was your day?”
Taehyung seems to perk up and says, “I had a great day so far. Hoseok, Jimin and I woke up early and made breakfast for everyone, and then Seokjin and Yoongi washed the dishes together. It was so funny to watch because they both hate washing dishes!” He giggles, and Jeongguk can’t remember a time after his family died that someone has laughed while they’re talking to him. “They were talking shit about the rest of us because ‘How dare they make us wash dishes? Us!’ and ‘Ew, oh my God, I just touched a soggy piece of food. Oh my God, it was so squishy, someone help me I don’t want to do this.’” He giggles louder now, and Jeongguk smiles a little bit, happy that someone’s happy around him.
“Then Namjoon and Yoongi cooked lunch while Seokjin and I gardened,” he goes on, “and after we ate, we all played a round of Goldfish before Jimin, Yoongi and Namjoon had to go to work. Hoseok, Seokjin and I played another two rounds before I wanted to wander around a bit. I found you after I visited my weyr at work.”
Jeongguk hums. “That sounds really nice.” It does. Spending time with a weyr, with people he loves, sounds so nice.
After about a minute of silence, Taehyung starts chatting about a fight he and Jimin had over dumplings. It’s silly, but it meant a lot to them at the moment of, so Jeongguk tries not to laugh out of respect for that, but when Taehyung starts laughing, Jeongguk can’t help giggling. It feels weird. People look at them like they’ve both grown two heads. Then Taehyung starts talking about other funny fights, and Jeongguk doesn’t stop himself from giggling whenever he feels like it.
About halfway through, Taehyung’s chatter dies down. Five minutes later, he asks for a break. Taehyung pretty much plops the bags onto the ground and sits on them, stretching his arms, and Jeongguk puts his own down more gently.
“My arms are so tired,” Taehyung frowns. “How are you still going? You’re carrying more weight than I am.”
Jeongguk shrugs, unsure if Taehyung’s just saying that or if he’s genuinely asking. In case he is asking genuinely, he says, “I’m used to it.”
Taehyung hums, then spreads his legs so that he can fold in half, putting his hands on the ground. Jeongguk would’ve been concerned, would’ve asked if he was okay or if he felt lightheaded if it wasn’t for the way his shoulders move and his back goes up and down a little bit, presumably stretching his arms. His back is a little bit sweaty sweaty, shirt mildly damp on the top.
“We’re almost there,” Jeongguk says. The path is gravelly and worn out within the forest, and Jeongguk looks around, at the trees, at the sun peeking through the leaves, and at nature as a whole. It’s pretty. It’s well loved. It’s home. It’s everything he’s not.
After a couple minutes, they get going again. Jeongguk helps Taehyung pick his bags up, then he picks up his own with a little struggle again. His arms are sore from being in this position for so long, but it’s a familiar ache. He knows what stretches to do to relieve the tension, but he’s not sure Taehyung does.
They walk faster because he doesn’t want the bags to strain Taehyung’s arms for much longer, and by the time they reach home, Taehyung’s panting and sweating has increased. Taehyung plops the bags down again beside the front door and sits on them while Jeongguk puts his stack beside, taking a seat on them as well.
“Thank you,” Jeongguk says.
“You’re welcome.” He folds in half like before and starts stretching his arms. Jeongguk won’t tell him that it won’t do anything but provide temporary relief. “My arms are gonna hurt so much tomorrow though.”
“Let’s stretch a bit so it won’t be that bad.”
Taehyung perks up again, sitting up. “Sure, yeah, you lead.”
Jeongguk nods, and then begins. It takes them a little more than five minutes to do the whole stretch routine, and then they do it again for good measure.
Jeongguk sighs at the end of it, sinking against the wall. Taehyung does the same, resting against it for a minute before he gets up. “I have to go now,” he says easily, “but I enjoyed talking to you. See you around.” He smiles.
Jeongguk nods, and Taehyung is off. His entire back is wet with sweat, and Jeongguk suddenly feels bad. Taehyung helped him so much, and he didn’t even offer a glass of water! “Uh, do you want some water?”
Taehyung turns around but doesn’t stop walking. He’s still smiling genuinely. “No, thank you.” Then he turns back around.
Jeongguk watches him go until he disappears, a bit starstruck that Taehyung was genuinely smiling at him. He wants to squeal like a middle school girl, but his person might think he got hit in the head if he did that.
Jeongguk goes inside and calls for his person, but when he’s met with silence, he goes through the house to see if he’s sleeping. Sometimes he does that, taking long naps in the middle of the day, and it won’t mess up his sleep schedule at all, unlike Jeongguk. But his person isn’t in bed, or on the couch, or on the toshaks in the reading room, or on the porch swing.
He looks around, eyeing the animal pens. His person might be in one of them, so he goes back to the front of the house and lifts one of the stacks of feed, then goes through the house again and walks to the shed near the pens. He puts the feed inside, then goes back to grab the second stack. After he puts the second stack inside, he goes in and out each of the animal pens, calling for his person.
But his person is nowhere to be found.
Jeongguk sighs and goes back into the house.
His person is gone again. He needs to tell his person about Taehyung before he explodes. He laughed with Jeongguk. He was nice. They actually spent time together, like friends do. “He laughed,” he smiles. “He actually laughed with me.” It’s not as good as it would feel if he were saying it to his person, but it’s still good. It still lifts a positive weight off his shoulders.
He sighs and lies on the couch.
He wonders when he’s going to see his person again. Tonight, probably, because it’s routine. He can’t wait to tell him all about today.
-
His person isn’t here. He hasn’t seen them since yesterday morning.
They always see each other at least twice a day if they don’t spend it together. Why isn’t his person here?
Shit.
He hits his palm against his head. Stupid! Stupid, stupid, stupid! He hasn’t been drinking the herbs and his person hates when he forgets. That’s why he hasn’t been showing up.
But that also explains the loss of appetite, lack of sleep and fatigue. The soreness and aching is also back, but he’s unable to sleep any of it off. Even lounging in his dragon form doesn’t relieve any of the aches. At least he hasn’t thrown up yet.
He hasn’t taken the herbs and the loneliness is eating him alive.
Honestly, he wishes he stopped taking them after the first week, because then his person wouldn’t have made him so dependent on it.
He laughs, putting a hand to one side of his face and throwing his head back.
If only people knew he’s a slave to his own mind, that he can’t be left alone for too long otherwise he’ll break down. If only people knew that the cold-hearted murderer is overly dependent on a hallucination of all things. They’d laugh in his face and spit on him after calling him one of their many slurs.
He’s starting to hyperventilate now, breathing sharply, quickly, but shallowly. He thinks he’s crying, but he can’t be sure. His head is laying on the couch seat. When did he crouch or sit? Why are his hands covering his ears? There’s no reason to, there’s no one screaming bloody murder, dogs barking or gunshots going off. Is he trembling? That would explain why his nose keeps scratching against the rough fabric of the couch.
He whimpers.
He did one thing wrong by accident and now he has to suffer like this? By truly being alone?
Why isn’t his person here? He promised he’d always be by his side.
Why doesn’t anyone want him? Unconditionally?
Why?
-
Trying to go to sleep for the nth time, he realizes, isn’t going to happen. He glances at the clock once more then sighs, lethargically sits up and gets out of bed.
He fills a cup with water and pours it into a saucepan, then fills the cup halfway and pours it in too. He puts the saucepan on the stove to boil and sits down at the table, laying his head on his arms. It’s tough without his person, but he’ll be okay—or, as okay as he can be until he caves and takes the medicine again.
He wants to scoff. Medicine.
He’s going to run out of it eventually and won’t be able to buy any more. This will happen again soon. He’ll be back to this stage soon.
Bile suddenly rises up his throat and he runs to sink, but nothing comes out. He stands there for a couple minutes, waiting, trembling hands grasping the edge of the counter, but nothing comes out even though the acidic burn of bile in his esophagus doesn’t go away. Now he wishes he wasn’t so optimistic to boil enough for a full cup of tea, half would’ve been better.
Jeongguk trudges back to his chair again and puts his head in his arms. He grunts when nausea consumes him and sits up to rest against the chair, head tilted up, eyes closed, controlling his breathing. He tries not to shudder at how cold the house suddenly feels.
This has happened before, even while he was taking the medicine, even while he was seeing his person—no, Hwangak regularly.
But even then Hwangak was never there to take care of him.
It’s always like this. He forgets what Hwangak really is—a hallucination—and gives him his heart, only for them to squeeze and condense it for no reason at all. Even though the signs are right there—the lack of eating, of sleeping, of going to town, of touching too many things—he forgets what Hwangak really is. He’s a fucking idiot.
He’s cold, but he’s clammy all over. He grabs at his thighs to try to feel something, but his thighs just feel numb. Even when his fingers dig in, shaking as they are, he doesn’t feel pain.
Bile rises up his throat again and he scrambles to stand up but stumbles when the chair doesn’t push back, so he leans to heave on the floor but loses his balance in the midst of it and falls forward, landing in his own vomit and creating another puddle right in front of himself. The chair falls on his hand and he yells, but ends up choking on the bile instead.
He heaves and heaves, tearing up from the acidic taste and smell. Eventually, nothing comes out, but he still heaves and the taste and burn of bile is still strong.
Breathing heavily, he removes his hand from under the chair and just sits. He sits and stares at the mess he made, mouth open with a string of spit connecting to the puddle in front of him.
When he’s sure he’s not going to heave anymore, he spits into the puddle and gets up to wash his hands and face at the sink. He takes off his dirty pants and cleans most of the bile with it, then takes off his socks and carefully walks to the laundry hamper. He’s thankful they decided not to put a carpet in the kitchen.
He comes back to clean the rest of it with paper towels, and after he throws them in the garbage he looks at his shirt. There are some dried flecks of bile on it, and he takes it off to put it in the laundry hamper too.
As the trembling slowly comes back, he brushes his teeth and rushes to get a new change of clothes. He pours the near-boiling water from the saucepan into the cup from earlier. He takes a teabag and puts it in, then crouches in front of a cabinet and digs through it to get the bag.
He gets a spoonful of the herbs, but spills some of it on the counter again when he pours it in the cup. He barely mixes it and just as he’s about to take a sip, a voice calls out.
“So soon? It’s only been two or three days.”
Jeongguk turns around. His person is standing where the bile was in front of the fallen chair, arms crossed despite his voice having a neutral tone.
“Why—” He puts the cup down because he might spill it before clearing his throat and trying again. “Why weren’t you here? Before? You at least let me get a glimpse of you when you’re angry at me.”
“I wanted to give you some time.”
“For what?”
“Just to see what you do.”
Jeongguk tilts his head. Just to see what he does? What else would he do other than do what he’s always done—drown himself in words and avoid all the common areas whenever he’s not either sore and aching to the bone again or sleeping? “What do you mean?”
His person shakes his head. “Nothing. Did you forget my name?” He asks instead.
No, he hasn’t. He just doesn’t like it because it reminds him he’s pathetic for handing his heart over to a hallucination of all things. “No, Hwangak.”
They smile, and then walk up to him and hug him. Then he says, “Drink your meds and I’ll see you tomorrow.” He walks into the corridor and Jeongguk doesn’t know where he goes next, just that he isn’t home anymore.
Jeongguk turns around and takes a small sip, flinching. It’s too hot. He brings it to the table and puts the chair upright, then takes a seat in a different one and starts blowing.
When it cools down enough to sip at, he takes small gulps, still reluctant to ingest much at a time in case he gags. By the time he finishes, he’s drowsy. He walks to bed and drops into it, half-heartedly pulls the blanket up to his chin and falls asleep in no time.
-
He’s rushing to get home. Hwangak said that they’d be here today but they haven’t shown up yet, so he’s both excited and anxious to see if his person’s finally come home. The grocery bags aren’t heavy, but they keep hitting against his legs if he doesn’t spread his arms which is mildly annoying and slows him down. He’s also irritated at himself for letting the fridge get so empty to the point that he needed to get groceries today of all days. He’s going to die of anticipation.
It’s just his luck that just as he’s turning a corner he bumps into Taehyung. He doesn’t really want to deal with Taehyung right now, but he also doesn’t want to push away the only person that’s friendly to him.
“Hi,” Jeongguk says. There’s a person beside Taehyung who’s looking at Jeongguk with his head tilted, who’s buff and has blonde hair. “Hi.”
The person’s eyebrows raise before he smiles, straightening his head and putting his hand out. “Hi, I’m Yoongi.”
He moves a bag to his other hand to shake it and says, “Jeongguk.”
“Ah, so you’re the famous Jeongguk.” He’s still smiling, just as relaxed as before. As if Jeongguk isn’t ostracized and known for familial murder.
He doesn’t know how to respond so he doesn’t, instead looking down to move one of the two grocery bags back to his other hand.
“We’re going to get some candy for Jimin’s birthday,” Taehyung smiles. “But do you know if the bakery is expensive? We haven’t been yet but are too shy to ask around.”
He doesn’t know. He only went there with his parents when he was little, wide eyes on the pastries and chocolates and candies, too young to care about things like money. He shrugs. “I don’t know.”
Taehyung’s eyes widen in shock. “You’ve never been?”
Not since Jeongguk, freshly scarred and mourning, turned to sweets to cope but was told by the owner that that would be the last time he’d be welcome there and gave him everything he wanted for free as an incentive. Embarrassment suddenly curls in his chest; now that it’s been pointed out, he realizes that going to the bakery is such a mundane thing to do, yet he’s never done it before. He’s not allowed to. “No.”
“Oh, okay.” He looks downcast now, and Jeongguk looks at Yoongi. His face is impassive. Better than a: ‘So what? All of us can survive that, it’s not that bad,’ or, ‘ It’s what you deserve.’
Jeongguk says, “I’ll let you guys get going now. See you around.”
“Yeah, see you,” Taehyung smiles softly.
Yoongi just hums.
He rushes back home, the anticipation about to make his chest explode. When he sees Hwangak sitting at the table with his sketchpad out, he sighs in relief before dropping the bags on the counter and hugging them.
“Welcome home,” Hwangak says. It’s so familiar, almost like before Jeongguk was reminded that his person likes to play with his heart sometimes for no good reason.
“Hi, dearheart.” He knows he shouldn’t say that, not yet, but he still does.
After a moment, he lets go and lethargically puts the groceries away. When he’s done, he pulls a chair out to sit by Hwangak’s side, putting his head on his person’s shoulder. It’s cold, but it’s familiar, and familiarity is what he needs right now; love is what he needs right now; the loneliness hasn’t gone away.
“Off,” his person says. Jeongguk sits up, looking at him in confusion. “You’ve had enough joy for the day, they don’t get any at all anymore.”
What? But it’s been years, and hasn’t he suffered enough to make up for the joy they’re never going to have anymore? It’s unfair that he has to suffer even now to honour the memory of them.
“Don’t forget to take your medicine.” His person puts their pencil down and gets up, going through the hall to the bedroom.
The door closes, and that’s when Jeongguk’s heart drops. His person went away again and didn’t say when he’d be back.
He plucks at a hangnail, stares at the piece of skin, then throws it on the ground and gets up to make tea in the thermos. He puts the herbs on the counter and a spoon beside it, waiting for the kettle to boil.
You’ve had enough joy for the day, they don’t get any at all anymore.
So what should he do, kill himself over it? It’s been years and it wasn’t even his fault. There’s nothing he can do about it even though he wants to—and God , he wants to. He misses them so much.
And why is Hwangak still hung up over it? They were Jeongguk’s family, not his. The only thing Hwangak should do is love him in their stead, not act as if the rumours are true.
He sighs, sitting down in the chair again and resting his head in his arms. His ankles ache. His heart hurts.
They’re gone, yet it’s their absence that’s influenced his life the most.