Archive of Our Own ^beta

i. city night and skyscrapers
 
The night is crowded.
 
As the sun sets down, the sky gets darker, bright lights start illuminating the city with a glowing yellow—probably green, red, blue, and other colors Vernon can’t see from his room. It’s soundless in his room now, only the sound of air conditioner he lets it on all day. He can even hear his own heartbeat, trying to match the sound with the imagery rackety noises out there; car horns, people’s screams, trying to get home as fast as possible. These hours are Vernon’s least favorite in New York—too loud, too many exhausted people in one place, voicing out their frustration of work and the world in general. Vernon knows that feeling too well. Living as a dancer, a performer, someone who has to meet people’s expectation every single day—Vernon knows what frustration and exhausted are better than anyone else.
 
He turns around when someone knocks and pushes his door open. “Vernon?”
 
“Yeah, Chan, I’m here.”
 
Lee Chan, a boy in mid-twenties, a genius dancer who left his study and parents back in a small village in Korea to follow Vernon as his background dancer. He’s currently one of Vernon’s main dancer and lead choreographer, one of those golden people among his crew.
 
“We’re going down for dinner, want to join?”
 
Vernon shakes his head, “No. I’m not hungry.”
 
“Soonyoung said you haven’t eaten anything since breakfast. Man, you don’t even need to go on diet, what’s so difficult of shoving food to your mouth?”
 
Kwon Soonyoung, his goddamn manager who appears to grin a lot in front of Vernon and talk a lot behind his back.
 
“Yeah, I’ll definitely eat. Later, okay? The view is so nice here and I don’t want to miss it.”
 
Chan smiles and nods at Vernon. “Missin’ home, huh?” he asks in gentle voice.
 
Vernon doesn’t reply the question immediately. Lee Chan is one of those people who read him like an open book, the ones Vernon can’t ever lie about anything. People who patient enough to stay for him.
 
“Yeah, I miss home.”
 
 
 
New York at night is really pretty. The skyscrapers reflecting bright colored shadows from the huge neon street lamps, from the car lights, from the tiny candles kids brought home after playing with their friends. Everything is so well placed like a heedful painting, with just enough gradation of brightness and contrast.
 
Vernon should’ve loved the view he’s having right now, and he shouldn’t have wanted to leave. He should’ve thought that New York is the place where he belongs.
 
But he still misses the place where he grew up, and he still wants to go home.
 
 
 
ii. leaving on a jet plane
 
“I can’t believe you’re actually doing this .”
 
Soonyoung scrunches his nose in distaste; slamming the ticket, passport, and some documents Vernon needs to fly back to Seoul from New York. Vernon smiles apologetically at him from the couch—hasn’t been moved from his lying position since a while ago. He wants to apologize for giving Soonyoung more burdens at his sudden request, but he knows words won’t make up anything for Soonyoung. Especially at times when he’s feeling extreme displeased.
 
“Take whatever you want when you go to Paris and send the bill to my card. Take it as an apology from me.”
 
Soonyoung’s face lightens up in the speed of light. The elder boy punches Vernon playfully on the shoulder, laughing. “You’re a jerk, Vernon. How many girls are willing to kneel in between your legs with this dirty trick?”
 
Vernon laughs, “No one. You wanna be the first? I like it when you’re crossdressing for me.”
 
Soonyoung punches Vernon again, harder, and his bright smile is all gone.
 
“I hate you.” Soonyoung declares.
 
Vernon grins, “Sorry, Soonyoung, but I really have to go. The natural call is stronger this time.”
 
Soonyoung’s face softens upon hearing that. “Do you really miss home that much?”
 
Vernon looks up at the ceiling—soft pastel ornaments plastered to the roof. The pattern is shaped of things Vernon doesn’t understand, and he usually doesn’t care, but he knows someone who likes to construe anything he sees and ends up telling Vernon about stories. It’s mostly his imagination; what he wants the world to be and what he thinks the world is. They’re formed so flawlessly that Vernon knows none of them is real, but he listens to him anyway. The ornaments remind him of the boy in a place he called home.
 
“Soonyoung,” he calls his manager. “Remember when one time you asked me about my dream, and I told you I wanted to be a big star? I told you I wanted people to remember me, to shout my name wherever I go, to have my own concert and go on tours?”
 
Soonyoung nods. It was years ago, Vernon was still an immature teenager with big dream and heavy passion on music and dance. Soonyoung nodded at him that time, knowing Vernon would make it big. He did.
 
“Look at me now. I got everything I told you I wanted to have, right?”
 
Soonyoung nods again. He’s unsure about where Vernon will lead the conversation, but he listens.
 
“I’ve done my run, Soonyoung. Now is time for me to come home.”
 
There’s sincerity in Vernon’s voice, something Soonyoung rarely sees on him. Soonyoung remembers those times Vernon spent them all alone in his apartment where the crew went home on New Year holiday, Vernon never once complained about homesick or such. He made his own music and mixtape, his own dance, did the work twice harder than usual. Vernon had done everything on his part when the management announced his first would tour, and after the tour finished Soonyoung knows it’s only time for Vernon to take a break.
 
Vernon is still a part of his family, after all. He misses home, misses his mother’s cooking, misses to wake up with peace surrounds him instead of hectic phone calls from the makeup crew telling him to get up and ready in three minutes.
 
Now is time for me to come home.
 
Soonyoung ruffles Vernon’s hair, amused at his grumpy face in return. “My little boy has grown up.”
 
 
 
iii. bleeding knees and burnt marshmallows
 
Vernon meets the strange boy by the age of eight, sitting on a sidewalk, one of his knees bleeding. His bicycle lies down beside him, probably broken somewhere after Vernon hit a rock and fell down. It’s such a stupid accident, but Vernon still can’t get up and now he doesn’t know what to do.
 
A boy around his age walks by and stops at Vernon’s side, eyeing him curiously. Vernon puts on his best annoyed face to make the boy leave; he doesn’t want this kind of attention. The boy doesn’t look like he’s going to help, anyways.
 
“Does that hurt?” he asks, and Vernon can’t help but stare back. His knee is bleeding , the wound is open and clear, so of course it hurts. Vernon doesn’t answer him.
 
“Would it be okay if I pour water on top of it?”
 
Vernon blinks, still doesn’t answer. This boy is really weird.
 
Apparently, he does, and Vernon made a wrong decision to stay silent. Vernon yelps in pain when the sore bites into his skin and the cold makes contact with his skin. He’s this, this close to strangle the boy for doing such a thing without his concern—and to make it worse, now his leg is numb and Vernon wants to cry. Vernon never cries.
 
“What the hell?!” Vernon shouts, making the boy flinches in surprise. “What the hell were you doing?! I don’t even know you! Are you going to kill me?”
 
“I just- I tried to clean your wound, but you seemed so much in pain so I didn’t dare to touch it—”
 
“And why would you bother to do that?!”
 
The boy sighs, “I can’t pretend I didn’t see it. Or do you want me to? That’s okay, I can leave.”
 
Vernon raises a brow. After pouring down cold water into his knee, now he wants to leave? Just like that? What an inconsiderate person. Vernon can’t wait to report this to his mother.
 
But to get to his mother, he will need some help.
 
“You still need to pay for what you did to me,” Vernon mutters, “help me to go home. I can’t walk my bicycle with a bleeding leg and it’s hard enough to walk.”
 
The boy smiles, as if he’s forgiven by the simple act of walk a stranger home. “Okay!”
 
 
Vernon’s mother looks surprised when she finds her son who left for a quick ride before lunch comes home with a wound on his knee and an unfamiliar boy walks his bicycle home. The boy keeps glancing nervously at Vernon’s leg, probably worried.
 
“Son, how did this happen?” Vernon’s mother asks, kneeling in front of her son. She examines her son’s leg and smiles in relief at the cleaned wound. “Oh, it’s good that you’d cleaned the wound. You’d get infection if you keep the wound soiled for too long.”
 
Vernon gasps, “So it’s okay to pour cold water to the wound?”
 
His mother nods, “Of course, dear. It kills the bacteria that could spread disease throughout your body.”
 
Vernon looks back and forth between his mother and the stranger. “Oh,” is the only respond he can give. His mother laughs.
 
“Why? You seem unhappy.”
 
“This person poured me cold water on my wound and I thought it was something offensive. I was about to report him to you, because it hurt so much I thought I was going to die.”
 
His mother clicks her tongue, “That was not something an eight year old would say. You should stop watching those weird movies with your elder cousins.” She shifts her gaze and smiles at the other boy. “Hello, thank you for helping my son to clean his wound. Please forgive him if he was hurting you with his words, he was always that harsh to people he doesn’t know.”
 
The boy smiles shyly. “It was okay, Madam. I remembered my mom did that when I bruised my knee the other day.”
 
“What’s your name, smart boy?”
 
“My name is Boo Seungkwan, Madam.”
 
“How old are you, Seungkwan?”
 
“Eight year old.”
 
Vernon’s mother claps in excitement. “You’re in the same age with my son,” she says happily. “I’ve never seen you around before, are you new here, dear?”
 
“Yes!” the boy—Seungkwan—nods vigorously. “My family just moved in two days ago and this was the very first time I visited a neighbor’s house. And he was the first neighbor kid I met,” he offers Vernon a bright smile, and Vernon rolls his eyes. He hates being social.
 
“Then, you two should be friends,” Vernon’s mother smiles softly. “Hansol, greet him politely.”
 
“Hello, I’m Hansol. Thank you and sorry for today.”
 
“I’m Seungkwan,” Seungkwan replies brightly, “Nice to meet you, Hansol.”
 
 
 
Seungkwan invites him to eat marshmallow in his place; turns out his parent’s house is only three buildings away from Vernon’s. He shoves a bag of white marshmallow into Vernon’s chest as he tries to turn on the stove.
 
“Uh, excuse me, but what are you doing with the stove?”
 
“We’re going to roast the marshmallow, what else? I’m turning on the stove, as you can see.”
 
“Shouldn’t we do it with hot coal or something?”
 
Seungkwan turns around impatiently. “Yeah, that’s what you got from the movies. But where do we get hot coals in a place like this? Hot coals and stoves are practically producing fire and I think they are the same.”
 
Vernon shuts up after Seungkwan’s sharp remark, letting the boy do the rest. After Seungkwan succeeds on turning on the stove, he stabs ten marshmallows with ten forks and places it carefully above the fire, nudging Vernon’s ribs to help him holding the forks.
 
“Do you think it will work?” Vernon asks, curious.
 
“Of course, it has been confirmed scientifically.”
 
Then, Seungkwan keeps talking about things Vernon can’t quite catch until one of the marshmallows melts and drops to the fire, making the fire dilate and burn the all the marshmallows completely.
 
“Seungkwan, the marshmallow!”
 
“Oh my god!”
 
All the marshmallows are burnt, not even worthy to eat. Seungkwan looks extremely disappointed and Vernon starts laughing so hard at the face Seungkwan makes. The other boy laughs, too, after seeing Vernon almost dies with unstoppable laughter. They both laugh at their foolishness, and losing ten precious marshmallows at once doesn’t feel that bad anymore.
 
“Let’s get some ice cream to make up for this,” Vernon decides, “my treat. A thanks for helping me with my leg today and a sorry because I snapped at you.”
 
Seungkwan accepts the offer wholeheartedly, and they never talk about the burnt marshmallows ever again.
 
 
 
iv. a boy with a pair of wings
 
Vernon has the last interview in New York before his flight to Seoul that day, and the interviewer—a pretty girl with long blond hair—asked him about his childhood times. Vernon’s thought immediately goes to Seungkwan, a cheerful boy with tons of memories.
 
(He was the reason why Vernon wanted to go home.)
 
Vernon tells the audience about the first song he wrote at the age of fourteen, only a few months before he left to America. The song was about a boy who wanted to fly, he tried everything to get what he wanted until he realized he had just enough down here, and no need to go beyond his ability. Everyone was surprised—it was impossible for a fourteen year old to think to that confine—but Vernon tells them, no, it wasn’t that impossible .
 
Seungkwan was the one who gave him the idea.
 
It was when Vernon told him he wanted to write music for himself. Seungkwan laughed at that at first, but he stopped laughing when he saw how serious Vernon was. Yet, he was still trying to joke. “Why don’t you ask me for help? I can give you a lot of ideas. I can’t write music, but I can help you with the story you want to tell in your song.”
 
Vernon, had been stuck up for hours, gave up and actually listened to Seungkwan’s advice. There’s first time for everything, and it wouldn’t kill. “Okay, give me a topic about something.”
 
“What something? Please be more specific, Hansol.”
 
“Just- anything, literally anything. Whatever comes first to your mind.”
 
Seungkwan hummed, thinking. He looks up to the sky, staring at the clouds. “Ah,” he said. “There’s this boy who wants to fly so bad. He wants to play with the birds, wants to sit on the clouds. He tries and tries, but he always ends up falling, eventually. And then something makes him realize he already has anything on earth, so he doesn’t have to go that far. All he wanted was to be happy, anyways.”
 
Vernon scribbled on his notebook real quick. Seungkwan story gave him a waterfall of more ideas—god, Seungkwan was a genius. He stopped when something felt not right and looked over his notebook to call Seungkwan. “Hey, when you said something makes him realize, what is that something?”
 
Seungkwan shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s up to you, mister. Does song have to be so specific like that? It’s even harder than writing a novel.”
 
“At least I need to give a hint,” Vernon replied. “If I met a producer, I’d turn this masterpiece into a real song. And I’d say your name as the whole inspiration of this song.”
 
Seungkwan beamed, “Really?”
 
Vernon nodded, “Yeah.”
 
 
“And did you really turn it into a real song?” the interviewer asks. Vernon nods, laughing.
 
“Yes, I did. But the song hasn’t played anywhere else aside from my iPod, I wasn’t intended to promote the song at the first place.”
 
“Was it because the song was special for you?”
 
The tone she used was teasing, but Vernon doesn’t feel like lying. “Yes, it was. The song is very special to me. I wouldn’t be able to start my career if it wasn’t for this song.”
 
“And,” the interviewer clears her throat, “may I know what or who is this something that makes the boy realize he has had enough?”
 
Vernon takes a deep breath. He thinks of the clouds he used to gaze at for hours in a hill near his house with Seungkwan, the green grass on the football field where he played with his friends and Seungkwan waited for him on the bleacher, the pond at the back of his elementary school where he taught Seungkwan how to catch frogs, the amusing made up stories Vernon would never get bored of. The first time they met, the other first times in all weird occasions he spent with Seungkwan.
 
He doesn’t know he misses Seungkwan this much.
 
“It was a boy with a pair of wings,” Vernon answers. “The boy with the wings was so bright and he made the boy really happy, and he had flown to where the other boy wanted to see so the boy just had to sit and listen to his stories. The boy thought it was good enough, so he stayed, hoping the boy with the wings would stay with him as well.”
 
 
 
v. (un)spoken words and (un)broken promises
 
They are only ten when Seungkwan asks him what he is going to be in fifteen years. They lie down under a big tree up the hill, Vernon’s head on Seungkwan’s stomach.
 
“Fifteen years,” Vernon taps his chin with a finger. “Then, I’d be a twenty five year old man. I’d be a big star, a very famous one. I would have my own world tour, people would take photos with my standees on the concert venue and brag about it on internet.”
 
Seungkwan chuckles, “Are you sure you’re going to be that big? All you did until today was staring at the posters on your room all day.”
 
“Hey, I was looking for inspiration,” Vernon deadpans at his friend. “What about you, then? What are you going to be in fifteen years?”
 
“I don’t know,” says Seungkwan. “I’m not sure, but I want to meet more people in the future. I like singing, talking, telling stories. My job would be somewhere around the three.”
 
“Be a singer,” Vernon suggests. “We would be star-buddies after we got real famous in years.”
 
Seungkwan chuckles, “I don’t know, Hansol. I’m not that… attractive to be a singer? And I don’t know how I would look like in fifteen years. It’s too risky.”
 
“What are you saying? You’re amazing, Seungkwan. Even people who don’t know you would think that way.”
 
“Thank you, you always did your part as a friend very well,” says Seungkwan, squeaks when Vernon suddenly pinches on his thigh. “Anyway, if you’re going to be a star, you need to leave this place and leave me alone. How are you going to do about that?”
 
“I don’t have to leave,” Vernon replies. “I can be famous even if I didn’t come to a big city.”
 
Seungkwan rolls his eyes, “Oh yeah, right. Do you think you can even do recording in here? Hansol, if you dream big, think big. You need to get big cities’ recognition if you want to be a successful artist.”
 
“But I don’t want to leave you,” Vernon whines, “I have no friends other than you. I’d be bored and sad and lonely in big city.”
 
“Yeah, me too,” Seungkwan sighs. “You’re my best audience, and I’m not sure I tell stories to people the way I do to you. I will be really sad when you leave someday.”
 
“Best audience? But I didn’t do anything whenever you told me a story?”
 
“Yes, that’s it. Because you didn’t do anything when I told you a story, that’s why you’re my best audience.” Seungkwan laughs and Vernon follows his laughter soon. “Hey, Hansol?”
 
“Mm?”
 
“Even if you leave this village, you can always come back, right? You may be mixed blood and doesn’t look like a Korean at all, but you’re still the part of this neighborhood. So… when you leave, all you have to do is come back home.”
 
Vernon doesn’t answer. He wants to ask, does it mean Seungkwan would wait? But he can’t find his voice. He stares to the sky, feeling clouds moving slowly as time consumes both of them.
 
“Hey, Hansol, I think I know what I am going to do in fifteen years.”
 
“Really? What is it?”
 
“Waiting for you to come home? I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t have many friends even after you’re a superstar. You’d always be a harsh, stubborn, and difficult person, and people would hate you but they don’t really do because you’re still awesome. So I thought that you’d probably need someone who is still nice at you as a friend when you come home.”
 
(Vernon gathers Seungkwan’s words and puts them on a box, locking the small box and keeping the box close to him. It’s a promise. )
 
 
 
Four years later, in the age of fourteen, Vernon leaves the village with a dream on his head and Seungkwan’s words on his heart. Seungkwan doesn’t cry, he sends his best friend off with a bright smile, reminds Vernon of the smile Seungkwan gave him in their first meeting six years ago.
 
(And Vernon wants to tell him that he probably likes Seungkwan, an I really really really like you kind of like, but he doesn’t.)
 
 
 
vi. a boy with a pair of wings and stars on his eyes
 
Many things had changed in the span of eleven years, but the feelings are still the same. Vernon remembers the exact detail of everything from eleven years ago, and he’s relieved most of things from his childhood are still there—the hill, the yard, even the trees. The buildings are also there, much newer and stronger after a good construction.
 
Seungkwan sits in the place where they parted eleven years ago, in a wood fence on the countryside, facing the highway. The wind blows on his face, messing his hair just a little. Vernon walks toward him, jumps on the fence to sit beside Seungkwan.
 
“So, are you a singer, a story teller, or someone from Human Relations Department who talks with people a lot?”
 
Seungkwan looks startled, but he just smiles. “I’m a kindergarten teacher,” he answers. “I sing, tell stories, and talk with people a lot. It’s a profitable job, I got three in one.”
 
Vernon looks down, smiling. He misses this boy so much he can’t do anything when they’re face to face. He’s still the Seungkwan he knows; a boy who has flown to more place than Vernon did with literal flights. Seungkwan has always had his own way to fly, and come back down, and wait for him .
 
“I miss you,” he finally spills it out, after been piling them up inside the box where he keeps Seungkwan’s promise fifteen years ago. “I miss you so much. There are so many things I wanted to tell you, from eleven years ago. Sorry it took me so long to come home.”
 
“I’m still here,” Seungkwan tells him. “It’s never too late to come home, Hansol—or, should I call you Vernon now?”
 
Vernon shakes his head, “I’ll always be Hansol to you.”
 
Seungkwan smiles, his eyes twinkling. “So, you want to hug me or not? I’ve been dying here trying not to jump on you and knock both of us down in this small fence.”
 
Vernon laughs, jumps off the fence to stand in front of Seungkwan, arms stretched out. Seungkwan throws himself to Vernon’s open arms, laughing on his neck.
 
Vernon is home.
 
 
 
vii. home
 
“I like you.”
 
“I like you, too.”
 
“I’ve liked you since we were fourteen, Seungkwan.”
 
“I’ve liked you even longer, since we were ten.”
 
Vernon blinks in disbelief. “And you were so quiet about it for fifteen years?”
 
Seungkwan shrugs, “Because I thought it was not something… that would be mine. How would you react at a ten year old confession to his best friend?”
 
“I might have agreed to date you in the age of ten,” Vernon laughs. “What makes you never change your mind in fifteen years?”
 
Seungkwan blushes before answering, “I promised you to wait. I made the promise long before I said it out loud.”
 
Vernon looks up the sky, trying to count the secrets Seungkwan had saved neatly behind his back and he has no idea about anything. He’s dumber than he thought he was.
 
“I’m here now, don’t hide anything from me anymore.”
 
“Oh, that would mean you’ll hear a whole lot more stories from me.”
 
Vernon hums, offering a hand to Seungkwan. The other boy latches their fingers together, smiling. His slender fingers fill the space on Vernon’s hand—a place that seemed to be made for him.
 
“Not that I would mind.”