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Yeon Sieun had been shrouded in darkness for longer than he could remember. Had been.
Had been.
Every stepping stone he traveled, shoes muddied from the flowing water of the riverbank, he remembers taking the leap on his own. For all of his life, he had been alone in the decisions he made.
Once he reached the other side of the riverbank, he would clean his shoes on his own. He did not rely on his mother, his father, or his shadow to clean his shoes for him. No, he wiped himself clean of the riverbank. Out of memory.
When Yeon Sieun met Ahn Suho, the river no longer flowed. The stepping stones turned from a dark grey—drowned in water—to a lighter shade, basking in the sun.
Ahn Suho, in a way, had been that Sun in Sieun’s life.
Had been. He is asleep, now.
To Sieun, being shrouded in the dark meant not being able to see the corners of the room. There is virtually no possible way to navigate one’s self when they enter a dark room. They cannot see.
That is why Sieun took all those steps over the river on his own. He could not find an outstretched hand to latch onto. No outstretched hand, though, existed in the first place.
Those dark corners persisted for the greater portion of his adolescence. He did not realize they existed when in childhood; he cannot remember, either.
All Yeon Sieun can remember is walking alone in the room. From corner to corner he would go, trying to find the light switch; illuminate his dim space.
Because he could not see in the room, he hardly saw himself, either. He could not see himself, so he did not realize how he hurt himself countless times by running into walls.
Every barrier left a scratch on his skin. Every scrape against a wall made it even more difficult to see. The burns brandished his skin so fiercely that he could not even feel it—how does someone distinguish pain from love when they’ve only felt pain all of their life?
Sieun was merely glad he felt something. He could hardly constitute it as pain.
Becoming used to this sensation, one which he thought he could and would never escape, Sieun entered high school. In his dim room, he could only see his study books. Those were what his mother gave him, and that is why he cherished them.
He thought, for the first time, sunlight must look like this. Objects which can translate into love. Objects which show surface-level care and affections.
Only when Sieun met Ahn Suho for the first time did he realize what sunlight could look like.
Suho extends his hand out to Sieun.
“Are you okay?”
Of course, Sieun had not been okay. He had just gotten out of a fight, thanks to Suho. Though the fight continued after, with an exhaustive victory on their side, Sieun had been blinded.
At first, he cowered from the sunlight. He objected to invitations, citing cram school and the need to study for exams. How desperately did Sieun wish to return to those dark corners, because those dark corners were all that he knew. One simple glance at the sunlight—Suho’s sunlight—nearly blinded him.
Nearly, because he kept seeing the sunlight from that point on.
Wherever he went, whatever he did, Suho was never too far behind. A hand on his shoulder, an arm looped behind his neck, subtle touches of their fingers when Suho explained how to play video games. Each touch, each interaction, formed a crack in the dismal walls of Sieun’s life.
The sweltering skipping of his heart made him sweat. It pumped so fiercely against his ribcage that he felt like he might burst into two.
It was then that Sieun was able to differentiate between pain and happiness.
Little by little, Sieun began to embrace the sunlight. He would squint from its spontaneity, and then later open his eyes to its entirety.
From knowing darkness for so long, he could not put a name to this sunlight. It came unfamiliar, alien, to him because he had never seen such a phenomenon before. He had no idea it existed in the first place.
The cool temperature of his skin soon warmed from the heat of Suho’s rays. And then, when just enough sunlight was shed, Sieun could see the scars of running into his walls for so long.
They came in all forms and sizes. They were diagonal and vertical. They were humane. More importantly, they were Sieun’s.
But from Suho’s presence, unrelenting and endless, he quickly learned something: the burden of said scars were no longer his to bear alone. He had Suho to apply gauze and first-aid.
Though scars always remain, they look less fearful now. They are embedded with the brush of Suho’s lips on Sieun’s teared skin.
The dark corners no longer looked so daunting and fearsome. Now, they looked cowardly in the bask of Suho’s warmth. Whenever Sieun encountered a wall, he no longer ran straight into it without a second thought.
He took a different path. He rounded the corner and started anew.
The thing about sunlight Sieun had learned, though, is that its warmth is intense. Once one feels it, gets used to the sinking sensation in their skin, it never parts.
Sieun had basked in Suho’s light for so long that he was surprised he never got sunburnt.
But perhaps, that was because Suho applied sunscreen for him every time.
So the very moment Suho left, he took that warmth with him. Sieun never again encountered the same radiant, youthful boy from before. The dark walls began to crowd in on him once more.
Sieun learned another thing about sunlight: once it goes away, it takes a very, very long time to come back.
Once one gets used to the sunlight, they yearn for it again and again and again.
What have they done to you? was Sieun’s first thought, feeling the freezing tears streak his cheeks. Why did they take your light and cram you in the same dark space as me?
Getting used to the darkness again, Sieun’s head hurt for quite some time. He could not sleep because of the headaches, not used to the sudden contrast from light to dark. Clear to smog.
It hurts, Sieun would think every night. It hurts. It hurts a lot.
So used to Suho’s warmth, Sieun no longer knew how to act. His book no longer acted as a light source, they never had, and he could no longer bring himself to cross the rivers. Not on his own, anyway.
The medicine did not work because he could not see it. Therapy did not work because he could not see his therapist. He no longer had light, so he could not see.
So because he could not see, the hurt kicked up again. Constant running into walls, the search for a light switch. Anything to bring the feeling of fullness back into his system.
Anything to make him forget Suho’s sunlight which, strangely, was the last thing he wanted to do.
There is one recurring motif about the darkness. No matter how long it persists, no matter how vast it expands, once one gets used to it, they can never feel anything else.
Sieun, in the end, thought that he deluded himself into thinking that the rays of sunlight existed. Their touch was so far-gone, not even coming back in the form of a candle, that he could not believe he once felt it.
A coward. I am a coward.
Sieun never wanted to feel the sunlight again. He never wanted to grant himself that elation once more. He did not want to set himself up for another bright day, only to be met with a much longer, brutal night.
He hid in the darkness of his self-made room like a coward. He knew Suho would think of him as a coward. But all he could do was sit in his shadow, one that could not be seen.
Shadows cannot be seen in the dark.
Invisible coward.
Those moments where Sieun felt pure light for the first time were his best, most fluorescent days. He felt himself flourish and prosper. He felt his roots dig deep into the soil.
But now that he knows just how good it can feel to be seen for a singular moment underneath the rays of someone who only knew light—who could only give off light—Sieun wants nothing to do with it.
For the longest time, he did not know he was in the shadows of his own. He did not know what darkness was because he did not know light existed.
So, he continues to run into those same walls. He does not know whether his eyes are open or closed. He does not know if medicine for his chronic headaches exists.
He does not even know if Suho’s radiance ever truly existed, or if it was a figment of his imagination. All he does know is that he began to appreciate the light he feared so much, and he needed to convince himself he hates it once more.
Because, if he faces the light one more time, and it flickers and fades one more time, Sieun might be taken with it.
Now that he knows how lovely it felt on his skin, a soft kiss, he will follow it wherever it leads him.
And he cannot let that happen.