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Suho's father pushes him to the ground again. The skin on his knees breaks, blood trickles from the scrape.
“Fight back, come on! Fucking waste of space! Fight! Back!”
Suho doesn’t fight back. Not yet. One day, though. One day he will. But for now, he curls up into a ball, wishing everything would just go away.
When his father drinks himself stupid and passes out, Suho makes his nightly escape. He wanders the streets and hidden alleyways of Seoul, cursing everything and everyone.
His life, dreary and full of nothing but pain. His father, from whom the only love Suho received were involuntary, impromptu self defence lessons. Spurred on by a spike in the old man’s blood alcohol levels.
A push, a shove. Kicking and screaming.
“Get up!”
Suho’s ears rang.
“Fight back!”
Please , Suho would think, please just stop .
But it didn’t stop.
So Suho would curse his good for nothing mother. Who just left, up and left without a word. Who left Suho to live with a wild animal of a man. What a terrible woman.
“Remember, Suho-ya… Mommy loves you, ok? Forever.”
“Promise?” Suho had asked with wide, young eyes.
A smile. “Pinky promise.”
Suho sighs, sinking to the ground and leaning his head against the busted up brick wall behind him. Where was she now? Suho wonders. What would she think of him now?
He was thirteen. A usually wonderous age for boys. Or that’s what everyone said. His father said it. Becoming a man… though Suho still felt all too much like a scared little boy each day that passed.
His voice was dropping, but it was still pitiful to hear. It wasn’t deep and gruff like his father’s, nor was it particularly smooth and cool like the action movie stars he sees on television sometimes.
He also hasn’t grown any taller yet. Boys at school are all at least a head taller than Suho himself.
(They push him too. Teach him ‘lessons’. “Get up, Ahn Suho. Punk ass, get up! I said get me a Coke!”)
Suho wasn’t becoming a man. Age thirteen had brought him the realization that humans weren’t civilized like they convinced themselves they were. They weren’t good, or kind. So Suho had to treat them like what they were. Suho had to treat life like what it was.
A survival game.
Each time he was beat down, he wiped the blood from his nose and walked off. Animal cruelty was wrong, after all. He wouldn’t hurt these animals.
He’d wait it out. He’s still waiting it out. The waiting is killing him but he’s waiting nonetheless.
But tonight, tonight the wait is over.
“What’re you doing here?” an ugly voice floats down to Suho’s waiting ears. He looks up to see an equally ugly face.
“Sitting. Why?” Suho asks, voice thick from lack of use. What did he have to say, anyway?
“Why?” The ugly guy sneers, looks around at his buddies, “ Because this whole area is the Union’s. Rats like you can’t go and fuck things up.”
Suho sighs through his nose.
“I’m just sitting. Leave me alone.”
A kick to the shin. Suho takes it, barely reacting to the pain. He’s been hurt worse. And from the look on his attacker’s face, he’s about to get beaten again.
Great, Suho thinks. Just great.
Legs, torso, face, arms, hands. These thugs are just as thorough as anyone else. Where were they from again? They said something about a Union. Suho doesn’t have a clue what that is.
Suho’s savoir comes in the form of a disembodied voice.
“Stop it,” he says, not raising his voice at all. He didn’t have to. Just two words and everything comes to a halt. Suho rolls onto his back and punches out a few breaths.
When the new arrival speaks again, the sound comes from right above him.
“What’s your deal?” it asks. Sure, it’s a rude question, but the tone of voice used is completely neutral. As if the person asking could lose interest any second.
“I’m just sitting here,” Suho says through clenched teeth.
There’s no reply, but Suho can feel eyes scanning his entire body. No, not just that. They pierce through the surface, reading his soul. His entire being feels like it is being forced out to be observed.
“Why don’t you fight back?” The voice asks, sounding thoroughly amused. As if he already knew the answer.
Suho opens his eyes to look at him. A kid around his age, with sharp, calculating eyes and a smug expression on his face.
“I’m still waiting,” Suho says, knowing the boy standing over him will understand.
And he does. He chuckles knowingly and shakes his head dismissively.
“The time to wait is over. Dealing with this is just pathetic, you need to end it.”
It’s what the voice in Suho’s head kept saying. But he didn’t want to listen to it. Why? Maybe he’s too scared. Or maybe he doesn’t want to change. Perhaps he’s grown to love the familiar taste of blood in his mouth.
Now that is truly pathetic.
The group of thugs walks away, including the standover boy who seemed to be their leader. Suho knows he’ll end up listening to him. He wonders how he was read so easily.
Even when Suho makes it home, those eyes… They keep him wide awake.
It’s not long before his father is removed from his life. A trip to the police station and lifting of his shirt one time was enough. It was so easy, why hadn’t Suho done it earlier? What had he been waiting for?
Suho moves in with his grandma, who holds him with no intention to hurt. And it’s been so long since he’s felt so good, so safe.
She apologizes to him a hundred thousand times over.
“I’m sorry I didn’t realize.”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t help you, Suho-ya…”
“I’m sorry I gave birth to that monster.”
Even when she stops saying sorry, an apology lives in her eyes forever.
Suho wants to tell her it’s ok, that it’s not her fault. Anything to stop her from blaming herself. But he can’t help but agree with her. So he lets her be sorry. As much as he loves her, he lets her live in her apologies.
Suho still walks at night. Old habits die hard. He finds himself in that same alley once again.
He sits and sits. Waiting. For who?
For him.
“You left, huh?” He says, the boy standing over him.
“Yeah.”
“I thought there’d be more blood, if I’m being honest. Did you get beat up your whole life and never learn to fight back?” A simple question.
Those words send a flash of memories surging through Suho’s body.
“Fight back, you punk! You useless piece of shit, fight back! You can’t, huh? You can’t?”
He rises so he’s standing too.
Suho punches the standover boy in the face.
It’s the first and last hit he will ever manage to land on Na Baekjin.
It was through the element of surprise that he was able to, but Baekjin didn’t look surprised at all. Was he that good of a pretender? Or had he really not cared?
“Good. You’re a fighter, Ahn Suho. So fight.”
How did he know Suho’s name? In their two brief encounters, Suho hadn’t uttered his first name once. Let alone his last.
Suho gained two things from that evening. A job, and a deep fascination with Na Baekjin.
The Union was growing slowly, and with it, Suho grew too. Thirteen to fourteen. He grew taller, stronger, bigger all around. He was really a person now. Was this the real Ahn Suho?
“Suho, go wait there for the guys. Take care of them, ok? They haven’t been paying in a while.”
“Suho, that was sloppy. You can do better.”
“Did I send you there to get beat? Fight back .”
Oh, so he was a dog. Many people called him so, but he didn’t mind. So long as he got to stand beside Baekjin, observe him like an interesting specimen in the zoo. Except Suho is the animal on display, and Baekjin is the smug human on the other side.
Look, you’re trapped here. I’m not.
He could afford to be a dog just a bit longer.
When Suho first came home battered and bruised, his grandma was all over him.
“Don’t fight,” she would say, “If they pick fights with you at school, just run away. Don’t get hurt, ok?”
Suho feels bad, she’s not saying it just to say it. She means it.
“Mommy loves you, ok?”
Suho nods. His grandma means it. No one else had meant it.
“Ok, Halmeoni.”
Suho says it just to say it. He doesn’t mean it.
Every day there’s new blood shed. Whether it’s Suho’s own, or someone else’s, or both. In the ring or on the streets, his opponents’ faces are never their own. They’re Suho’s father’s, those kids at school who picked on him, Na Baekjin. It was always one of those faces.
“Don’t fight,” Suho’s grandma’s voice rings and cuts through the dark ocean in his mind. And suddenly the kid beneath him becomes just that again. Just another kid. He has no will to fight them, they haven’t wronged him. They’d wronged the Union, and Suho was not the Union.
He always walks away without turning back, dirty money filling his pockets.
Suho would stop, but his grandma’s bills were being paid, and he couldn’t afford to just leave. And then of course there was him. Na Baekjin, who Suho can never stop thinking about. With eyes that see everything, ears that hear all. He knew too much and too little about the Union’s boss.
Who are you? Suho wants to ask. The answer to that question seems right there. Baekjin’s humanity was right there , he could feel it. But he was unable to grasp it, unable to grab it and hold it in his hands and be sure it was real.
Suho lives on, belonging to the Union instead of himself. Acting on the Union’s wishes instead of his own. Suho is not his own. Suho trains, and it clears his mind, but he’s not fighting for himself.
The one time he acts on his own accord is when he picks a fight with Kang Wooyoung. It was exhilarating, because it was not just an instance of being sidetracked. It was going directly against the Union.
Kang Wooyoung was a candidate, and a hopeful one at that. The buzz about him was undeniable.
“If you dislike him, dislike him quietly. He’ll be one of us soon, don’t dig up problems before then.”
That’s what Baekjin had said at the Union meeting. Suho had nodded along dutifully.
But Suho itches to fight Wooyoung. He’s strong, and Suho needs to know if he’s stronger. When he stands opposite Wooyoung's pridefully condescending gaze, he lets pride win.
“Who’s this?” Wooyoung says, smirking, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around.”
Bullshit. He’s lying, and he knows it’s getting under Suho’s skin.
“You talk a lot for someone who’s not even Union yet.” Suho responds, standing tall. He can’t stand the look on this guy’s face. It’s just like all those other kids. Cocky and mean, the face that you see before you’re covered in scrapes and bruises, writhing in pain.
But this time, Suho wouldn’t be the one on the ground.
“If you have a problem, come at me. Don’t just talk.”
And Suho does, without mercy. Bones crack, blood smears all over his knuckles, the resounding impact of each blow sends sounds like explosions through Suho’s ears.
In the end, Suho’s nose is bleeding, and bruises bloom like purple flowers on his face. His entire body aches. But Wooyoung is far worse off. His face is puffy and bloody, and his arm is in an unnatural position. He’s groaning in pain.
Suho gives him one last kick, and walks off.
Baekjin doesn’t reprimand him. When Suho sees him, he just gives him a knowing look, as he always has.
Suho doesn’t attend the next Union meeting. Or any after that.
Why? Suho wonders from time to time. What pushed him to leave? Maybe Suho didn’t want to hurt anymore. He didn’t want to bow down to violence against his will, didn’t want to imagine people who’ve wronged him in order to tolerate hurting innocent people.
Of course, Baekjin saw it coming. Of course he did. He had four people lined up and ready to take Suho’s place. He had changes in place that would change the Union forever. Without Suho.
Good for him, Suho thinks.
Suho needs to take on three jobs to replace the life he left behind. Three jobs and hours upon hours of sleep. Faces streaked with blood and tears haunt him in the little time he has to dream. Imaginary fists fly at him. All knowing eyes cut him into pieces.
Two years pass like this. High school is no better than middle school, and Suho is tired all the time.
People don’t talk to him. He doesn’t talk to them. Girls think he’s attractive, some don’t leave him alone. He’s not interested, though. They’re pretty, but shallow. Their eyes sparkle but he doesn’t feel like he can drown in them. Why does he want to drown?
Days, weeks, months. Work, school, home, work, school. It’s all a blur, a thick fog.
But then something flies out of it. A boy?
No. Those eyes, they’re back. They’re back and Suho’s lungs feel full of water.
The boy in front of him is heaving heavy breaths, chest rising and falling. His gaze is urgent. It stabs through Suho’s chest like a javelin.
That day, Suho gained two things. Whether he realised them or not, was a different matter. A deep fascination with Yeon Sieun. And a different purpose for his fists. To protect, not hurt.
Maybe this was the real Ahn Suho. Maybe it had taken him sixteen years to figure that out.
“Don’t cross the line,” he says.
He wishes he’d had someone to tell him that, too.