Chapter Text
네모난 화면 헤치며 / 살며시 다가와
Stepping through the square screen / You quietly approached me
Thoughts — unwelcoming, uninvited — engulf, latch on to his brain, like a parasite desperately lunging into the mind of an oblivious caterpillar just months before it gets the opportunity to morph, bloom, cocoon into a butterfly. So it hosts, controls, seeps into every crevice the caterpillars brain has to offer. And it memorises. It traces over every dent etched in the insect's mind, attempting to mimic movement that of an ordinary caterpillar might execute; to appear normal, to blend in. But it can't. Instead, it stutters, limps with every jolt of its body as it pushes forward sluggishly. He stands out. The rare chance of coming across another caterpillar crosses his path. It drives them away. His many limbs reach out for the touch of familiarity. No one. The caterpillar longs until it's a caterpillar no more. Until it has completely taken over, leaving him to spiral in the depths of his demise. The caterpillar surrenders — unwillingly — to the overwhelming pain, the parasite, the ligger. Body no longer in his control. After all, the caterpillar let it consume him.
Geon... a faint hum in the near distance.
eonw... he tries to block it out now.
woo... it's getting louder.
"Kim Geonwoo-ssi", a voice blares. The alarming sound echoes throughout the confined space of the classroom, bouncing off of the walls with an eerie ring that pierces his ears, startling him out of one of his many trances. He lifts his head up in response, greeted by stares that perforate questioning holes between his dreary eyes. His throat dries up before he manages to squeak out a meek apology, earning himself a worried look from his seatmate. He doesn't voice his concern.
The lesson whirs into a dull murmur yet again. This time, he's distracted by rays of warm light beaming, fighting against the sheer curtains as it cascades an angelic glow down on the blonde figure sitting in front of him, his head turned to fixate beyond the windows. More sunlight spills, framing his face to kiss his skin, accentuating his pouty lips and working to soften his round, wanderlust eyes. His lashes flutter animatedly.
Geonwoo stares, tilting his head ever so slightly.
Geonwoo follows a strict, tight schedule. Tweaked, adjusted over the years, curated to balance out his trainee life and school life. To explain his mental state as tired would be an understatement. Maintaining top of his year, juggling class president responsibilities, reciting dances in front of his mirror at 4am, drinking ginger tea every morning to soothe his voice. For Geonwoo the list goes on, and on, and on. But he perseveres, nonetheless.
His hope relies on a flimsy thread that threatens to rip apart at any given moment.
So when Geonwoo finds himself — legs coming in to cage his chest — on his bedroom floor, carpet coarse beneath his feet, he's silent, stressed, confused, head slumped up against his mirror. That sliver of faith he held onto, snapped. His elbows are propped on his knees, as his hands come up to claw at his nape, frustrated? sad? It's a chewed up fuse of the effort he's exerted. His polished smile, his perfect facade he's been prolonging since he entered the industry, unraveling before his eyes. Unshed tears prick at his waterline.
His second chance at debuting: cancelled, swept under the rug.
He doesn't want to give it the satisfaction.
The caterpillar spasms in its wake.
Geonwoo furrows his eyebrows before he reaches out to grab his phone, absentmindedly opening instagram. Why? He didn't know. He presses on the first story on his feed, continuing to press until he's greeted with text on a black screen: you've reached the end. So he taps off. Now he's scrolling through recommended posts until he stops at a dark picture of a road under a bridge. His attention diverts to the caption:
2 days ago
안정이 되기까지 수많은 실패와 좌
절이 있을 거야더배우고 더 울어봐야지
지혜는 눈동자를 통해 깨닫거나 배울 수 있는 게 아니고
경험을 통해서,, 깨지고 깨트리고 다듬고 다듬다 보면 천천히 조금씩 오랫동안 부
드럽게 어쩌면 약간은 채워진,, 단단해진
There will be countless failures and frustrations until I become stable I will learn more and cry more
Wisdom cannot be realized or learned through the eyes
Through experience,, broken, cracked, bruised, cut, then slowly, slowly, slowly, for a long time, gently, maybe a little filled,, hardened
Geonwoo rereads the paragraph until it's engraved on the walls of his deserted brain, until he's sitting up, feeling the words course through his body, pumping in his veins, until his screen darkens from inactivity. This was made for Geonwoo, a message for him. He needed this. He wanted more. He taps on the bookmark button before he reads the account name out loud.
"write my eyes write my book?"
Poetic. He opens their instagram profile and is welcomed by a decent following, multiple highlights and over 90 posts, seemingly dedicated to delicate writing, movies, books, photos, and recommendations. He follows immediately. Geonwoo's finger presses on the story posted five hours ago: The account owners hand appears, his ring and pinkie finger painted a matte black — most of the nail polish chipped away — accompanied by a silver ring that captures the light pouring onto his hand. "Hands kinda warm", is written in the bottom right of the story. He scoffs. Geonwoo then migrates to a different post, this time a book recommendation:
1 Week ago
끛을 보듯 나를 본다 / I See You Like I See a Flower
Half of the book seems to be heavily annotated, muted strips of colour portrude from the right as evidence. Recommending a book half way through? Geonwoo doesn't usually gravitate towards poetry, maybe he will now, maybe tomorrow he'll go to the library.
Geonwoo falls asleep reading that caption on his floor. His phone abondoned in his hand as the light from his screen occupies a patch of ceiling in his room.
은빛의 환상 심어준 / 그녀는 나만의 작은 요정
Planting a silvery illusion / She's my own small fairy
Geonwoo's bag is lighter than usual, making sure to leave space for a book or two. He even woke up earlier, reaching the library at 5am. He forgot to drink ginger tea. It lingers in the back of his mind, lots of things do.
He drags himself over to the poetry section, looking back down at the post open on his phone: "White cover," he mumbles to himself. He looks up to find said book lingering in a familiar silhouette's hands. The same ethereal gleam from the first light blesses his features, pooling around his platinum blonde hair like a halo. Geonwoo forgets he's staring until the guy is reciprocating his stare, one of his brows slightly quirked up.
"Uh, that book," Geonwoo's the first to look away, eyes wandering to the clump of paper now settled securely between the guy's thigh and hand. "Are you going to borrow that?" Geonwoo swears he feels a drop of sweat slide dramatically down the side of his face.
"Yeah I was, for a friend. I just finished it recently," His eyes squint. He looks like he has something else to say, "I didn't know you were into poetry, Kim Geonwoo." His name slips from his lips effortlessly, like a melody, a hymn, a prayer. Geonwoo could get used to that.
"Oh. I just saw someone recommend it online and thought I might give it a try." Geonwoo answers rather quickly, a hand coming up to scratch the back of his head awkwardly.
"Really?" The guy's features soften, "this book isn't that popular. I wonder how they convinced you to start reading poetry with this." He rambles on unconsciously, picking at the book's spine as his eyes flick up to meet Geonwoo's jaunting gaze.
"They have a way with words." Geonwoo then smiles, tilting his head, as if reminiscing. The latter pauses before stepping forward, nodding approvingly?
"Here, i'll just let my friend borrow my book." His classmate extends his left arm out, two fingers standing out to Geonwoo: his ring and pinkie freshly painted a light, sky blue, the glossy coat reflecting the dawn lit vividness. Geonwoo blinks a few times too many. The guy notices. What a coincidence. It's not the same colour. There's no ring.
"Thanks," Geonwoo recieves the book after what felt like an eternity of him ogling at this guy's fingers. Next thing you know, rumours are spreading around of him having a nail polish fetish. Geonwoo shudders at the thought. "It means a lot, really."
A half smile paints the latter's face, eyes crinkling at the corners. His hand comes up to cover his mouth and Geonwoo — weirdly — wishes they'd remain at his side instead. The blonde boy turns to leave, but not before a hand coils around his wrists in a yielding clasp.
"Can I get your instagram?" Geonwoo blurts out as the guy's head swirls around slowly, expression unreadable. "I might need help interpreting the poetry and what not." Geonwoo releases his grip, hands flying up to his chest in a flurry of movement. "You look like a poetry kind of guy." Geonwoo winces internally at his wording.
The guy chokes on his laugh as his hands reach for something in his pocket. He steps closer. A sweet scent suddenly looms, wafts in the air around him, like peaches succumbing to the heat of the summer sun. He gestures for Geonwoo's arm. So he gives in. The latter grips his wrist, steadying it as he writes on his palm. Geonwoo can feel beads of sweat threatening to ooze out of the surface of his outstretched hand. The pen lifts and Geonwoo releases a restrained, shaky breath he didn't know he was suppressing. He looks down at the letters written neatly in his palm.
@leeeeesangwon
"Lee Sangwon."
Geonwoo drags out slowly, eyes resting on Sangwon's faint blush placement underneath his eyes. His name repeats, replays in his head like a broken record with a nostlagic lull. Sangwon looks up at Geonwoo through his lashes, a soft smile present on his lips as he closes the lid of the pen. Geonwoo's adam apple bobs.
"Text me when you're stuck." Sangwon disappears behind bookshelves, pulling the mellow flush of the early morning radiance with him. The empty space in front of Geonwoo, desolate, bare, devoid of warmth. He stands there for a minute, basking in Sangwon's ghost of a shadow, his lack of presence, his lingering scent. Geonwoo could draw his outline. Someone walks past, exchanging a weird look that wakes him from his brief stupor. Geonwoo retreats for the double doors of the library.
He wouldn't attend classes that day.
이른 아침 안개처럼 / 내게로 다가와
Coming towards me / Like early morning fog
His left ear rings, stings like static. His cheek buzzing with the vestige of a tender slap. Redness blooms, consumes the right side of his face.
What the fuck makes you think you can skip class... His ear continues to throb. Geonwoo doesn't pay attention.
You think you can afford to do that when you failed debuting for the second time? How is he going to cover this up tomorrow. Geonwoo's nose scrunches.
I shouldn't have let you do what you want. Nails dig into his arm, leaving lunate indents to remind. Geonwoo's getting shaken violently.
Look at me when I'm speaking to you or I'll... I'll kill you! Don't even try underestimating me, I ca... There's no need to shout. Geonwoo's head turns to the sound of the voice, yet his eyes focus on the door in the background.
He doesn't let them finish.
Geonwoo nudges past with as much force as he can apply, successfully making the figure stagger in disbelief, or maybe bewilderment, confusion? He breaks into a run, shoulder slamming flush against the door to exit in a hurry. He turns right, feet pounding on the cracked concrete of the apartment building's floor.
Geonwoo doesn't look back.
He runs past the elevator and reaches the stairs, flying down with a sudden urgency. It takes minutes before he sees moss adorning the edges of the bottom railing. Geonwoo doesn't waste any time after he's landed on spiky, potruding clumps of grass, bundles of green peeking between his toes. He breaks out into a faster pace. His hand comes up to cover his muddled hair with his jacket's hood.
He's running, he might get winded — though he maintains his heightened speed. He knows where he's going: Somewhere secluded, far, distant enough.
Geonwoo finds a closed off road under a bridge, standing where that exact picture was captured. A rush of anemoia consumes him. He stumbles backwards, back making contact with the walls of the bridge. He slides down, sitting, his head drooped, shoulders sagged. His school uniform is ragged, name tag dangling to one side. He doesn't bother to fix it.
He stays in that position, until the light peeking through the bridge dims out. Darkness attempting to swallow every possible supply of light around him.
"Who are you?"
Geonwoo slowly raises his head to peep at the muffled voice a ways in front of him. A pair of big eyes find his own in the sombre setting, he's too far away to make out his face. The singular street light in the far distance doesn't provide enough light. The latter steps forward to look down at his uniform, light finally seeping through. His hair is dyed blonde.
"Kim Geonwoo," a beat, "what are you doing here."
He doesn't respond. His eyes were glossing over, he couldn't control it, so he drops his head again. Pathetic. The guy inches closer until he's squatting parallel from Geonwoo. A finger finds his chin and guides his head up to face the guy, he's blurry but Geonwoo could recognise that face anywhere, everywhere.
Lee Sangwon.
The misery, the quiet battle he's conjured and bottled up spills, streams from his eyes, but Geonwoo's silent, staring into the tender regard laced in the latter's eyes, head tilted in his touch. He craves his comfort, his foreign solace. Geonwoo parts from the succour of his finger to rest his forehead on Sangwon's shoulder. Quiet sobs fill the emptiness, his salty tears staining Sangwon's uniform.
Sangwon sits down — in what Geonwoo makes out to be a quiet understanding — reaching for something in his school bag: wired earphones. He holds them in his hands until Geonwoo's weeps subside, replaced with tiny inhales instead. He plugs both the buds in his ear before connecting it to his phone. Geonwoo lifts his head, nose welled up to a saturated red. He fixates on the concrete separating them. Sangwon scoots towards the bridge walls so that they're adjacent, knees brushing, arms slotting against each other. Geonwoo swivels his head towards him, heat rises to the tips of his ears. Sangwon stares back, taking one of his own earbuds and wedges it in Geonwoo's ear, finger lingering a second too long. A piano instrumental breaks the silence, briefly, before transitioning into lyrics:
I have loved you for the last time
Geonwoo's gaze flicks over to Sangwon's phone, the cover is of two boys — one resting his head on the other's shoulder. It's from a movie, not one that he recognises. Geonwoo looks ahead, Sangwon must have noticed his staring, he plants his head in the nook between Geonwoo's neck and shoulder. Geonwoo stiffens a little, taken a back by the warm sensation settled on his right side. He shakes his head mentally, finally easing into the embrace. He doesn't move, doesn't ask why, doesn't make a sound, he revels in the calm, in the placidity, in the whirr of the music.
visions of gideon, visions of gideon
Multiple beats pass before Sangwon suddenly jumps to his feet, startling Geonwoo out of his peaceful serenity. Without question, without asking, Sangwon launches his hand for Geonwoo's wrist, pulling him up with practiced ease. They're sprinting up the stairs to the bridge, well, Geonwoo's getting dragged, grabbing hold of Sangwon's bag as he struggles — momentarily — to keep up. He could ask Sangwon where they're going, if they could slow down, or why he was doing this, but he remains silent. Sangwon’s grip is careful, almost hesitant, so gentle he couldn't help but notice. In a daze, Geonwoo grabs a hold of the hand snaked around his wrist to slide it down, their fingers moulding together like the final two pieces of a puzzle.
In the spur of the moment Sangwon looks back towards Geonwoo, and it's like the world around them, around him, stops, pauses, halts. His breath catches in his throat as he takes a hold of the view displayed in front of him. Betrayed by the wind, Sangwon's hair feathers against his left eye, urging it to close. A carefree smile, wide and tantalising, appears on his face. It infects Geonwoo, too contagious to contain his gloomy demeanour. He's elated, thrilled, as if he's forgotten about the earlier moments that occurred. He should be embarrassed, having ruined Sangwon's uniform and all, instead he's giddy, beaming like he's won the lottery. Maybe he's not half wrong. Sangwon just so happened to feed into it, squeezing his hand as his remaining opened eye squints, his signature whisker dimple appears as he does. Geonwoo wishes he could trace over it, let his finger learn the curve of the dip. Geonwoo takes a photo as he blinks, nestling it in the heart of his mingled mind, hoping to carve the memory of him.
It's not long before they reach the pathway of the bridge. Bending down with the help of the steel railing, legs now dangling off through the gap. The breeze comforts. It's pitch black, Geonwoo can't see anything, except Sangwon, only Sangwon. His hair moves with the gust of cool air, pulling and pushing strands to paint a picture that belongs in a museum. He's been staring too long, the realisation hits when Sangwon leans back, his arms backing up behind him to support his weight as he throws his head back, sighing. Geonwoo quickly looks away.
"You'll really like the book." His voice is soothing, fusing with the sound of the dying wind.
"How do you know?" He turns his head towards Sangwon again. He's angled his neck too many times, just to look, to stare, but somehow it doesn't hurt, he could keep straining it.
"I see myself in you." He doesn't turn towards Geonwoo, eyes content with staring out into the night's thinning veil.
"You don't know anything about me." He didn't mean to come off as stingy, hopefully Sangwon knew that. There's a long pause, that is, until Sangwon smiles. Geonwoo should be weirded out. But he isn't. There's not enough light, though Geonwoo can see that curious glint in his alluring orbs. Sangwon doesn't reply, at least for a long time. Instead, he heaves himself up, arms resting idly upon the rails as the bright ball of warmth creeps from its place beneath the horizon.
"What were you doing here anyways?" Geonwoo finally speaks up after a long session of pondering, eyes tracing the pale edge of morning as it rises painfully slow. "You were pretty surprised to find someone else." Geonwoo's hand slide against the cool of the steel poles.
"Well for one, it was two am." Wow, Geonwoo really lost track of time, how could he sit there unmoving for hours. "Besides, this place is basically abandoned. I come here when I'm feeling troubled... or when I need time." Sangwon follows shortly after with a quiet grunt as an alarm from his phone rings, the screen a blinding white. From where Geonwoo was standing the screen read, 'get ready'. He doesn't want Sangwon to go, to leave yet. He wishes he could say that.
"I didn't realise how long we've been talking," Sangwon tucks his phone in the snug of his jacket's pocket, "I need to go to practice, trainee stuff." Geonwoo's brows shoot up in slight surprise. Of course Sangwon was idol material, who was he kidding. He forces a smile, offering a tiny wave as Sangwon departs. He doesn't look back. Geonwoo wishes he did, turning his head in the opposite direction before Sangwon's silhouette disappears behind the winding road.
A cold breath of wind urges him that he's truly all alone.
Geonwoo isn't going back. He isn't going to school either. He crashes at his friend's place. For how long? He doesn't know, the time periods are different every time, mostly depending on the friend. It's the same lines and questions his friends ask, even sneaking observations in: "You spend too much time training", "First aid's in the bathroom, bottom cupboard", "What happened to you Geonwoo? You used to be so energetic", "Are you sure you got that from falling?". He's used to it, what else can he do? He brought this upon himself, he can handle it himself. Right? He plops on their couch as a last resort, his cheek left untreated.