Chapter Text
For all his life, Park Seonghwa had been poor.
He comes home to their average house in the middle of an average street, the train rattling the windows from a distance. There is a lack of any scent, aside from the rain, and the pavements are cold. Unlike other houses, Seonghwa’s house doesn't need constant cleaning. It gathers dust, perhaps the only indication time still passes, but there are no littered things on the floor, no socks peeking from the cabinet drawers.
The car enters the house gates and Seonghwa turns the speaker volume up.
He can still hear the door shut, the keys placed atop the wooden table, the squeaking of wet boots on the floor.
“I’m home,” says his father.
His mother would emerge from which room she’s burrowed her hole and take his coat. She will not speak, or welcome him, she will take his coat to the back of the house, to the laundry, and use it as an excuse to linger there.
She will leave Seonghwa to wonder if there will come a knock on his door, the sound playing in his head before it even comes.
The dinner table is set when his father takes a seat. There is food but there is no smell. And that is good, because when it does, it’s usually of burnt crisps, and what comes after are things not fit with how they all clasp their hands together in prayer.
They eat, spoon and fork hitting glass plates. Seonghwa makes no sound. He’s listening. Looking for when the clanging stops, and his father would put the utensils down, look straight at empty space rather than at his family seated by his side.
“Seonghwa, how’s school?”
He finishes chewing. “It’s good, Dad.”
He thinks the conversation ends there. His father never talked a lot. Only when he has something he wants to know.
“Your teacher called this morning. At the office. Said you went to the nurse’s while you were taking an exam.”
Seonghwa is silent.
“What’s that about? I told you to keep your grades together.”
“Someone beat me up. I passed out.”
“I don’t see any shattered bones.”
“The nurse patched me up.”
It’s unusual to have only cicadas as your background noise throughout dinner. The rain had simmered down to a lull, the pit-pattering on the roof drowned out by the muteness. His father continues to speak.
“Don’t let it happen again.”
And Seonghwa nods. His father turns to his mother.
“There’s word around the church lately. Said they’re finally cleaning the streets. Took them long enough. Fucking dirty down there at train tracks.”
The rest of the conversation blurs in his ears, only getting up when his mother cleans the table and his father sends him out to take the trash.
He passes by the flower shop as he does it. There’s an old lady there, a woman in her 70s, adorning floral dresses that matched her shop. She manages the store alone, never failing to fill the air with the scent of flowers. Seonghwa walks up to her, putting the garbage behind his back so as to not replace the smell with stench.
“Grandma, what are you doing outside? It’s still raining a bit, you’ll catch a cold.”
She doesn’t give an instant response to his words. Her back is bent, spraying water on her flowers, then at last she turns, her face morphing to mild surprise. She must have not heard him. “Oh, dear, Seongie,” she coos. She places her palm gently on Seonghwa’s head. “How long has it been since you last got out of your house? I knew there was a missing handsome face around here.”
“Grandma.” He keeps himself from smiling.
“And don’t you worry about me, young man. I’m not that old. I’m just getting these ready for Joongie,” she says. So she was listening to him. Seonghwa takes in the line of flower bouquets in front of her, large and bulky. They’re blue irises wrapped in layered purple paper, tied together by a black ribbon. There are about five. “Look there he is.”
Seonghwa turns around and that was the first time he sees him.
A boy shorter than him, refined nose and brows, walking through the foggy air with his hands on top of his head as if it protects him from any stray raindrops. His mouth rested in an intimidating line until he saw the old woman and broke into a huge grin.
Like Grandma did to Seonghwa in greeting, she places the palm of her hand on top of the boy’s head, but this time, ruffles his hair, making the boy shake his head altogether like a dog drying its fur. “Are they ready, Granny?”
“Yes, dear, I was just finishing. Will you be okay? Can you carry five?”
The boy flexes his arms. He wore a sleeveless shirt, the cut of the sleeves low enough for wind to pass through. Seonghwa turns his eyes away from the bulge of muscle. “Of course, I can. We’re talking about me, Granny.”
“Oh hush, I’ve seen more muscle than actual humans in my early days. My husband was more built than you, boy. And let me tell you, he’s terrible at holding flowers. Used to crush them a lot. I had to ban him.”
She turns to Seonghwa, who’d become silent as soon as they started talking.
“How about you help him out, Seongie, dear?”
“Huh?” He blurts out. The boy is looking at him now. Seonghwa tightens his grip with the bag of trash he’s holding. “I’d love to, but my hands are dirty. I wouldn’t want to soil them.”
They both eye the trash. The boy returns his focus to him not long after, and Seonghwa feels himself shrink more.
“Sweetie, why don’t you put that at the back with my trash, hm? The truck stops by here, they’re worried my poor old back will crack if I take my trash over at the pickup point, so they get it here for me.” She doesn’t wait for Seonghwa to agree, just pushes him to her backyard and makes him drop the bags there. “Now come on and wash your hands.”
The boy is leaning by the door frame when they get back. Seonghwa feels uncomfortable without anything to hold onto for support. It doesn’t last long as Grandma places two bouquets between his arms, and he glances around to see the boy already taking the other three.
“Off you go now. Be careful. The road is slippery.”
And they’re out of the shop, the doors closed, Grandma already zoned in to her next task.
Seonghwa hears a soft chuckle. “Looks like we’re doing this,” the boy says, and he starts walking. Seonghwa briefly wonders how he can walk with large strides given the flurry of flowers obstructing his vision.
“I’m sorry, we didn’t get to ask if it’s okay with you.”
“Nah, you’re helping me. I should be thankful.” He walks a few inches in front, not because he intended to, but because Seonghwa refuses to walk beside him. He eventually looks back at Seonghwa. “She called you Seongie. What’s your real name?”
“Seonghwa. You? Joongie?”
“Man, that sounds ugly.” He fake blanches and Seonghwa chuckles.
“I’ll tell Grandma you said that.”
“Oh, so you’re like that, huh,” he teases. He smiles, and with an adorable dip of his head, he says, “It’s Hongjoong. Nice to meet ya.” Seonghwa hums. He didn’t think that needed a reply until Hongjoong continues, not looking at him. “You’re quiet.”
He doesn’t know what to say. But staying silent makes Hongjoong right and strangely, Seonghwa didn’t want to give him the victory quite yet. “You’re flashy,” is what he ends up saying.
For a moment, he’s nervous how it would be received. But Hongjoong just asks with a curious brow. “How so?”
Seonghwa’s eyes land on the other’s hair and Hongjoong immediately laughs. “Ah, so that’s what you mean. My little brother colored it for me.”
His hair is bright pink that’s blue on the tips, the color washed out into their faded versions. Under the cloudy sky, it looks more gloomy and less flashy, but with the way Hongjoong’s clad in lively blue ripped jeans that’s too wide for his legs and a matching jean jacket over the previously sleeveless white printed shirt, the hair only adds to the set. He’s flamboyant. And like a kid.
“He likes cotton candy.”
“I see,” says Seonghwa.
Hongjoong looks at him. He pretends he doesn’t see, though it is quite obvious from the bulk of flowers turning his way. “Thank you for doing this, by the way.”
“You already said thanks. It’s alright.”
“Yeah, but you haven’t accepted it yet.”
“I just did.”
“You haven’t said the magic word. I’m going to keep repeating until you do.” Hongjoong is walking backwards now, his body facing Seonghwa who has a half puzzled and half unbelieving face. “Thank you, Seonghwa.”
“Seriously? Are you usually this pushy about thank yous?”
Hongjoong shakes his head. “Only to pretty people.”
“Oh.”
Seonghwa doesn’t know if he heard that right. Hongjoong continuing with his steps with a playful smile does not help him. He isn’t being flirted with, is he?
He looks down on his baggy pants and loose shirt. Surely not.
“Thank you, Seonghwa.”
It startles Seonghwa out of his thoughts and onto Hongjoong’s soft eyes fixed on him.
“You’re welcome,” he pushes out, and there’s heat in his cheeks.
“There we go.”
Hongjoong’s smile, Seonghwa’s embarrassment, and the easygoing conversation between them are all forgotten when they reach a subdivision whose houses are taller than their surrounding walls, and the men guarding the gates had waiting hands on black firearms hanging on their waist. Seonghwa looks back at Hongjoong and it looks like they’re in the right place when the other stopped.
“I’m fine here,” he says.
Seonghwa’s doubt is painted clearly on his face. How is he carrying five big bouquets inside? “What do you need five bouquets for, anyway?”
Hongjoong hesitates. “They’re for us. My family.”
“Oh,” Seonghwa says. He doesn’t know why but he feels bad for asking. “I’m sure they’ll love it. These are beautiful.”
Hongjoong smiles. “Thank you.”
He wondered briefly if the boy would make him say ‘you’re welcome’ again but Hongjoong makes his way to the guardhouse and talks to the guards there. It’s a civil conversation, from the looks of it, and Seonghwa is left playing with the heels of his boots. After a while, Hongjoong returns and he swoops the flowers from Seonghwa, startling him.
“Thank you again, I’ll take it from here.”
Seonghwa watches him trek back up and inside the subdivision, turning around with arms full of purple bouquets and giving Seonghwa a huge smile before disappearing completely.
Hongjoong must be rich.
Seonghwa doesn’t think much about him. But more often than not, when he’s stuck in the dead air of his room, circling around in his swivel chair with nothing better to do, pastel pink with blue tips occupy his mind, accompanied by a sharp nose and toothy smiles.
He hasn’t seen him again after that. Not that he leaves his house much.
But he does wonder, if he leaves his house, and stumbles onto the young man again, would he smile at Seonghwa, greet him like a friend despite the rather brief encounter, give him purposeful gazes again with easy talk? It tempts him to go outside.
Then he remembers the alternative of that.
Be ignored, be shortly waved at like a miniscule acknowledgement of his presence, or worse, be introduced to anyone as that weird kid in baggy clothes taking out the trash who got butterflies after some joke.
It’s not a stretch. After all, the rich hardly associate with the poor.
So Seonghwa stays inside his room and waits till the car is parked outside and keys are on the wooden table, just so he could start the exact same day again.
The second time Seonghwa sees Hongjoong is when the other is bruised from his arms to his legs, the entirety of his body painted varying shades of black, purple, and blue. Seonghwa drops the bags he was holding, this time filled with groceries, out of shock mostly, his free hands instantly coming up to cover his mouth.
Hongjoong stood there in the middle of a clearing, his feet planted firmly on the ground despite his body swaying in tune with the gush of wind. He looked about to fall over, but what surprises Seonghwa the most is the kids under Hongjoong. They’re twice his size, lying on the floor on top of each other and just as black, purple, and blue as him.
Hongjoong doesn’t fall over. He towers over them.
“You’re telling me to go to hell? You go first!” He hears Hongjoong say. “You think you can talk shit about my brother and not get retaliation?” He spits at a guy’s face.
The guys were groaning beneath him and one was already crawling away. Hongjoong doesn’t make a move, merely watches them run away from him, or rather, limp away from him. “Fucking bitch!” He calls at a farther distance before disappearing completely. There’s pieces of glass on the ground, shattered bottles of gin, and some blood. It’s a scary sight, Seonghwa thinks. The expression on Hongjoong’s face scares him more.
He thinks about picking his bags and quietly making his way home, pretending he didn’t see anything– it’s not his business. He’s not involved. It’s so easy to go back to the safety of his house.
Then he remembers his fears. The way he pictured Hongjoong doing the same, and him being absolutely repulsed by the idea, and it makes Seonghwa’s feet head towards Hongjoong instead of his way home.
“Are you okay?” He asks. Hongjoong flinches, but he ignores it. He searches his jeans for a napkin, a towel, tissue or anything, to wipe the smudges of blood at the corner of the boy’s lips. “Damn, that looks like it hurts.”
“Seonghwa?”
“Hi. Hold on, I think I have,” he brings out a bottle of water, “here.”
Hongjoong takes it with a timid nod. “Thank you…”
“You’re welcome.”
Seonghwa is grinning because he knows Hongjoong will look at him, and he’s right, it makes Hongjoong grin too.
Now that the two of them are alone, Hongjoong falls to his knees, Seonghwa barely catching him. He helps Hongjoong sit on the ground properly, one where his injuries wouldn’t worsen or hurt. He’s been beaten up a couple of times too, maybe not to this extent, but he knows how it feels.
“Wait here, I’ll get some things.”
Hongjoong watches him leave. He comes back with another plastic bag, full of bandages, betadine, cotton buds, and some ice. He wraps the ice with the jacket Hongjoong had lying around and gives it to the man.
“Put it on your cheek. Where it’s swollen.”
Hongjoong obliges. “Where did you get these?”
“There’s a convenience store a few blocks down. You need clean gauze, don’t worry, they’re of quality.”
Hongjoong chuckles, but his lungs are punched down more than he thought so he chokes on them instead. Seonghwa half-glares at him. “I wasn’t worried about that.”
Seonghwa didn’t reply. He’s immersed in cleaning the open cuts his eyes could see, trying not to wince at the discoloration of Hongjoong’s skin from the bruises. He’s too focused he forgets that what he’s doing is supposed to hurt, and the lack of protests.
“Are you still good? Can’t have you dying on me.”
Hongjoong’s chest heaves softly. It’s the closest he gets to a laugh at the moment. “Yeah I am. Just thinking.”
“About what?”
“That I only seem to show you ugly things about me.”
Seonghwa’s hands stop. Hongjoong is looking at him but at the same time not, and he’s too scared to meet his gaze in the off-chance that he is. “What do you mean?”
“Something. Nothing.”
Seonghwa hits him lightly on the shoulders. Hongjoong fakes an ‘ouch’.
“You’re good at this,” Hongjoong says, his mouth pointing childishly to the already bandaged wounds. “Are you studying to be a nurse?”
“No, I’m not.”
“Doctor then.”
Seonghwa smirks. “If you’re thankful, just say it. You’re making expectations of me. I’m not smart enough to be a doctor someday.”
“Who said that? Give me the name. I can still throw a few punches,” he jokes. Seonghwa touches the cut on Hongjoong’s shoulder with the cotton dabbled with betadine and Hongjoong hisses. Seonghwa tells him it serves him right. “And you’re gonna study it. Maybe not smart enough now, but you will be.”
Seonghwa’s lips thinned. It’s been a long time since someone spoke to him so gently. Like the world is simple. “I used to get beaten too. The nurses at school taught me how to clean the wounds.”
He can’t tell Hongjoong’s reaction from the way his body went rigid. He’s breathing, evenly, but something about it feels like he’s controlling them, counting, and keeping himself calm.
Seonghwa takes comfort in the solidarity of the silence. Just Hongjoong’s breathing and the lukewarm breeze under the setting sun. Minutes later, Hongjoong’s answer is meek. “I can’t believe there are people who can stomach hurting such a pretty face.”
The corner of his lips curled up unwarranted. “It’s because the face is pretty that they beat it up, Joongie.”
“Hey, I told you that was ugly.” He pouts.
“And I’m gonna keep calling you with it.”
It’s never going to be ugly if he keeps that pout.
Seonghwa had offered to help Hongjoong go home, lend a shoulder to carry half his weight and not burden his legs more than necessary, but the boy had refused. It wasn’t outright, but he’s adamant in going in circles about it that there’s no way Seonghwa wouldn’t catch on. He refused to keep the medicine too, saying Seonghwa had paid for those and should keep it. He also very clearly and directly stated that he prays he won’t need to use them.
Therefore, although it’s against all that he stands for, Seonghwa watched Hongjoong limp his way back home with the same gigantic wave and toothy smile.
He wonders why Hongjoong wouldn’t allow him to help. Does he not want anyone at home to see Seonghwa? Or was it because he’s injured? Even for him, it would be problematic to explain why a friend who’s helping you home isn’t in a dire state like you unless he’s the one who beat you up. But still, he could’ve helped him ‘till the gates.
It’s not like Seonghwa doesn’t know where Hongjoong lives.
Maybe he just doesn’t want to be seen with Seonghwa.
Seonghwa doesn’t know what to do with that thought.
“Seonghwa, earth to Seonghwa.”
Seonghwa almost falls from his seat.
Jongho places a hand on his shoulder. “Hey dude, you okay? Ms. Kim was calling you like thrice in a row.”
“She did?”
“Yeah. I honestly don’t know how you get away with sleeping in class. I think she likes you.”
Seonghwa yawns. “Dude, she’s like, 30. And she doesn’t like me. She’s just too tired to discipline students all the time.”
Jongho raises a brow. “Big D got his ass bitten off. I don’t know what you’re trying to say here.”
“Damn.”
“He deserves it. Your bruise okay yet?” He asks before returning to his book. He doesn’t look up to Seonghwa or check his bruises. The door of the classroom slammed open, Big D walking inside in his big curled steps with his hands in the insides of his pants, the pockets forgone.
Seonghwa looks at Jongho who’s all but getting out of the way, saving his own peace.
Too bad, Seonghwa’s a minute late from turning back to the windows, to his own business, a minute late from saving his own ass.
“What are you looking at, fag. ”
Seonghwa shuts his eyes. If he ignores him, he’ll come striking for more. “Nothing.”
“Yeah? You’re supposed to bow when the king enters,” he says. His laugh sounds like a witch’s cackle. “Come now, on all fours.”
Seonghwa knows the whole class is looking at him. He’s frozen in his seat.
“Not gonna do it?” His spit is everywhere. Then, Seonghwa feels him stop, at his right, his face uncomfortably coming closer to Seonghwa. “Hey, look at this.” His friends crane their neck like geese. “This loser… don’t you think he kinda looks like a chick?”
Seonghwa’s hands are shaking under his table. His eyes are strained forward. Can’t wipe the sweat trailing down his forehead.
“I haven’t noticed it before– all thin and pale looking. Might look alright if we force him to wear a dress.” He’s scanning Seonghwa’s face now. “Look, even his eyelashes are long!”
His friends laugh with him.
“Ya, Park Seonghwa.”
“Even his name sounds feminine,” says the guy on his left.
“The fuck? What if he actually is a girl?” says the guy on the right.
Big D’s eyes zeroes on him, a smirk creeping to his face. “Then how about we take a look,” he wets his lips, “and see what he’s got down there.”
Seonghwa shuts his eyes, feels his pulse racing, his heartbeat too loud in his ears. He feels the hands before they come and he braces himself. He feels them and he’s about to shriek—
“The teacher’s here,” Jongho says.
Big D’s hand pauses midair.
Seonghwa doesn’t believe it. Knows it’s a lie. But Jongho wouldn’t risk himself without a parachute to catch his fall, and soon enough, clicking heels resonated through the hallway. It’s Ms. Kim. A terror.
Clearly, Big D is aware. He retracks his hand and settles with a sarcastic fixing of Seonghwa’s collar.
“I’ll see you at lunch, babe.”
He leaves his collar wrinkled and unbuttoned, black tie dangerously tight on his neck.
Ms. Kim enters the room, her eyes hovering through every nook and cranny of any asleep child. It lands last on a very awake Seonghwa and she starts her lesson.
Seonghwa moves his seat a little closer to Jongho. “Will you be alright?” he whispers.
“I’ll be bread shuttle at worst,” he answers, eyes fixed on the board. “He tried to lay his hands on you. Are you okay?”
“He didn’t punch me. Because of it, I’m not missing this class knocked out in the infirmary. It’s my ‘ at best’ so far.” Ms. Kim turns to write something on the board and Seonghwa leans in closer. “But seriously, you’re gonna be fine, right? He’s not gonna mess with you cause you stepped in?”
Jongho eyes him pointedly, and it’s one of those times Seonghwa sees emotion in them.
He sighs. “Worry about yourself,” Jongho says.
He sinks back in his seat.
“You still got lunch.”
Seonghwa’s outside school during lunch. His father would disapprove of it. He’s, by any means, not cutting. It’s lunch, and the fate bestowed upon him, and thankfully, Jongho too, is to buy the king and his goon friends lunch. With their own money, because when Seonghwa had gathered the balls to ask them for theirs, they had given him a black eye. He and Jongho settled on splitting expenses. But regardless of the reason, he’s outside, and his nerves are getting the best of him.
The king had wanted Rib Eye from the market. It’s expensive– Big D knows exactly what he’s doing. And because lunch is only for eating, and not venturing outside school over the fences, they’ve divided the labor and Jongho’s buying the others’ food from the market’s opposite side.
So here Seonghwa is: in front of the bustling town market, counting his money to buy Rib Eye that won’t get him another black eye, and trying his best to do it all on borrowed time.
Except, he doesn’t know where to buy Rib Eye. Does it come in packs, instant, or whatever. He’s not hopeless though. His face comes in handy in situations like this, or should he say, the large black patch his eye had turned into. The ladies in the market adore him. They’ve told him where to go, and Seonghwa set off to do as he’s told.
He’s by the portion of the market selling fish when someone bumped into him.
Not intently. They were in a rush, and Seonghwa felt the impact hard on his chest. The boy is considerably shorter than him, who mutters a quick and loud “Sorry!” to Seonghwa before hurrying off.
Not long after, another was about to bump into Seonghwa, this time an angry big man wearing a plastic apron and a machete on one hand. He’s yelling, and the knife is in the air, causing a crowd of customers shrieking.
The man chases after the boy who bumped into Seonghwa.
He runs past Seonghwa, who breathed of relief, because there was no rest for his nerves with all the possibilities laid open as long as that knife was brandished, and he will never be in the mood for a market trip turning into a horror story.
He’s about to leave for the meat section when something tugs his sleeve.
Or rather, someone.
“Hyung,” the boy calls. He’s the same one that bumped into Seonghwa, the same one being chased by a machete-wielding-man, and the same one that’s smiling at Seonghwa right now as if he won’t be causing him trouble soon.
Seonghwa’s face turns white.
“WHERE IS HE? WHERE DID THAT BRAT GO?”
“Hyung, I’m sorry, I’ve got no time to explain,” he tugs at Seonghwa’s sleeves impatiently– head not turning to the bellowing voice that seeked his presence– just looking straight at Seonghwa, begging. “Can you hide me?” Then he shakes his head. “Please hide me.”
“Who are you? What do you want–”
“DAMN GUTTER BRAT!”
“Hyung!” he whispers. “Please! Please! Just take me– I’ll pay you back– Anythin—”
Perhaps it’s because he looked like a child. One that must be years younger than Seonghwa, despite the short gap in height. Or perhaps he simply pitied him.
It didn’t matter then, how clueless he was, when he pulled the boy by the wrist into a crater of big boxes and hid with him there. The commotion is loud even behind them but it dulls compared to the beats of adrenaline in Seonghwa’s blood. His eyes are fixed on the edge of the craters, looking out for the situation, if they’re safe, and when he looks back to the boy, brown eyes are blown and blank, his mouth opened to a tiny gape.
They’re both catching their breaths and Seonghwa waves a concerned hand in front of him. “Hey.”
“You helped me,” he says like he can’t believe it.
Seonghwa gives him a wry smile.
“You helped me!” He pounces on Seonghwa, who was taken aback, latching onto him wholly in a tight embrace.
“Shh!” Seonghwa hushes him, fingers on anxious lips. “They’ll hear us.”
The boy nods but doesn’t let go. Seonghwa feels his giddiness from the way he vibrates against him. A minute later, he calms down and faces Seonghwa with blushing cheeks. “Sorry, that was a bit embarrassing.”
More than a bit, but it’s cute, so I’m looking the other way.
“You helped me and it means a lot. I couldn’t help it. Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Seonghwa says and the boy is already at the next thing to say. He talks fast.
“God, you don’t know how much I was panicking there. I thought he wouldn’t notice– he was busy! And I just slipped by completely harmless, but he’s already chasing and calling for shit a few seconds after I was gone! Then I was running, then it’s a dead end and I looked around and all the other vendors would be friends with him and would no doubt turn me in then you were there!” He takes a breath. “I took a gamble turning to you, hyung. And you helped me.”
“Wouldn’t notice what?” Seonghwa asks. The stupor of gratitude the boy is in, breaks, and he steps back. He gestured vaguely with his hands at Seonghwa’s narrowed gaze. “Why were you being chased? What did you do?”
The boy is biting his lips, eyes turned away from Seonghwa, not saying anything. Seonghwa’s eyes cast down. There’s something hanging there, too subtle and normal for Seonghwa to notice before. He’s about to grab it before the boy realizes and pushes it to Seonghwa’s chest, his eyes shut.
“Fine! I stole it!”
Seonghwa looks inside the bag. It’s fish.
The boy takes off to run, leaving the fish with Seonghwa, but Seonghwa pulls on his wrist before he can escape. “Where are you going?”
He tries to shake Seonghwa’s hold, but to no avail.
He doesn’t speak anymore. Or answer his question.
Seonghwa sighs.
“If you go back out there, you’ll just get chased again.” He holds the boy by the hand, intertwines their finger so he doesn’t run from him again. “Come on, let’s pay for this.”
“I can’t. I don’t have money,” he mumbles and Seonghwa almost couldn’t hear it.
“I’m not telling you to pay for it, dummy. But we need to talk with the vendor. Hope he’s put the knife down by now.”
They walk back to the market. By the time they reached the man with the same plastic apron Seonghwa remembers, Seonghwa had finished counting his money.
His face holds the same grump, a stormy line of brows and dark eyes. Seonghwa tightens his fingers on the boy’s which he receives in return. The boy had wanted to run, but he didn't.
When they plead their case, the man looked considerably calmer.
“We’re really sorry,” Seonghwa bows. The boy follows him.
“I-I’m sorry,” he squeaks out.
The man huffs. “Don’t let it happen again. This market might ban you both,” he says, but the grim in his tone had disappeared. “My wife works hard to clean these fish while my sisters go out to the coast to catch them. You’re not going to eat a good meal without paying for their efforts, would you?”
The boy nods, fiddling with his hands. Seonghwa smiles.
“Hey, that kid snatched some apples last week!” A neighboring vendor shouts.
“My bananas too! You have to pay for them!”
“And my bread buns!”
“Some of my noodles–”
The rest of the market was filled with overlapping voices of the vendors, all waiting for recompense. Seonghwa turns to the boy to see if they’re telling the truth. His guilty face was answer enough.
Seonghwa ended up paying for all of them.
“Thank you again, mister. We’ll be leaving now,” Seonghwa mutters, voice as comically broken as his wallet.
The man snorts. “Take care on your way. Here, have this.”
He gives them a bag of small fishes. They’re plump and fresh and already tastes appetizing to Seonghwa the way fried fish does. The boy takes it.
The man looks at him, like a father about to scold his son. “You should’ve just waited for your brother if you didn’t have money to pay for them.”
He turns to Seonghwa. “And you– take care of your sibling. This kid’s got a penchant for trouble.”
They’ve been waved off before Seonghwa could say anything, the boy’s large smile returning and bidding farewell to the people who he once ran from. He waved his hands largely, his body swaying in the movement, and his mouth and eyes curled into a toothy grin. The whole thing reminds Seonghwa of someone.
“Why’re you so happy?” Seonghwa asks. They’re walking on the street. He doesn’t know where they’re going, merely following him.
“We have fish! My family would love it!”
Seonghwa smiles. “I became your big brother without knowing your name.”
“It’s Wooyoung.” He beams at him. “I guess I really get to call you hyung now.”
Seonghwa chuckles. “Why, how old are you?”
“Seventeen,” he answers. “You hyung?”
“Must be why you’re not in jail yet,” Seongha murmurs. Wooyoung slaps him playfully on the shoulder. “I’m nineteen.”
“‘Bout the same age as my real brother then.”
Seonghwa turns to him, an eyebrow raised. “Oh? So you do have a big brother. Where is he? Guess I’m not going home broke after all,” he sings.
Seonghwa realizes Wooyoung has stopped skipping on the roadway next to him. “I’ll pay you hyung. I can’t now, but I will.” His head is down. It’s a struggle to say the words. “Can I ask you for a favor, hyung?”
Wooyoung’s eyes are not wet. They’re glassy, the type that’s transparent from the first gaze, from the first gloss over. They’re shaky, accompanied by Wooyoung’s sniffing, and they’re full, carrying a lot of things that Wooyoung feels. They tell Seonghwa how important this is and how much he tries to put up a fight against being scared. His eyes are open, and shaking, but they don’t waver. Not away from Seonghwa.
“Please don’t tell my brother. About this.” Seonghwa lets him finish, and Wooyoung does, sounding afraid he’d be cut off. “He’s trying his best to look after us. There’s already a lot on his plate and,” Wooyoung cradles his own arms, “I don’t want to be a burden.”
Seonghwa knows Wooyoung is waiting for his answer. And it’s hard to look away when everything he does will be received by the other person. It’s hard because he feels like laughing.
The bubble of laughter is right under his throat, persisting to come out.
Seonghwa was fooled. He thought it was because Wooyoung looked young. Like a child who was allowed mistakes and a victim of the world’s misunderstandings. He thought he pitied him. As if he was any better than where he’s currently at.
“You can pay me now.”
Wooyoung fights the tremble in his voice. “How- with what?”
Seonghwa smiles. “By saying thank you.”
Seonghwa was a fool. It was his eyes. Wooyoung’s eyes.
Seonghwa had gone back to school to receive a whooping that day. But there were contained giggles between every punch, like he’s too happy just existing to mind the physical pain, and soon enough, Big D had gotten tired of punching a lunatic with more than a few screws loose on his head.