His wet hair clung to his hard face, even as he blew smoke circles in the chill of the morning. He placed his frozen palms in his armpits and tried to keep warm even as the chilling wind bit through the thin shirt that failed to protect his scarred body. His stomach growled in the deathly silence of the morning. He felt his looming spirits droop further. What was the point of it all? Of standing down every morning clutching a piece of art no one cared a damn about? It neither fed his growling stomach nor did it provide him any solace. He was sick of it now, sick of all of it. So sick.

         His little eyes crinkled into a sad frown. It was the first time he had let his emotions take control of him. He puffed a little, trying to calm the rising feeling of terror that seemed to tremble through his body. He wanted to cry. He wanted to wail. He wanted to feel the warm, salty tears rumble along his parched skin. But he couldn’t.

           A passer-by strode across the avenue. Kyuhyun eagerly looked up, edging his heavy painting slightly forward. He hoped, oh he dared to hope, that perhaps a miracle was planned for him today; that perhaps someone was walk by and notice the art work; that just perhaps, perhaps someone would reassure him that he had chosen the right path, that he could paint. Futile hopes! The man walked past hurriedly not bothering to even glance at the little huddled figure waiting expectantly. It was useless; Kyuhyun wondered why he even tried, why he ever hoped. Hopes are terrible little entities, they build up to terrific heights and crash and burn with such relative quickness. Futile, futile hopes.

         The sun rose further in the pale blue sky. Its slight warmth defrosted Kyuhyun’s shrivelled frozen hands. He felt his morale weaken, his self-control droop and a slight tear trickled down his cheeks. It never reached the ground though. It froze midway. It froze like everything else Kyuhyun had ever owned. It froze and sunk in oblivion, just like Kyuhyun himself.

“Any luck?” A gruff, uncultured voice roughly asked Kyuhyun as he trudged his way back into the underbelly of the city.

“If those rich damn bastards don’t appreciate imagination, it’s not my mistake.” Kyuhyun answered back bitterly, his anger rising up the slope of his throat and bubbling out like a warm liquid. “Damn them rich bastards.” He swore again, passing his tongue over his dry lips. When was the last time he had had a decent meal? When was the last time he had had clean water to live on? When was the last time his rights had been guaranteed to him? When was the last time he had lived? Never.

          His eyes stung with tears he didn’t want to let go off. His throat itched in all its parchedness. He wanted nothing better to close his eyes, doze off and perhaps never awaken to see the light of the day. After all, what had he to live for? He bit his lips as the negativity shrouded his senses. But a sudden resolution broke through his thoughts. No, he had everything to live for. He had his family, his Yesung. He had to feed his family. He had to prove to Yesung that he was a loving, responsible partner. So he had to earn, to let his family of two survive another day. He had to earn to let his Yesung live for one day longer.

“Why don’t you just give up, man? Get into drugs or something, it’ll still bring you lot more than your crappy paintings do.” The gruff voice laughed rudely, uncouthly stabbing Kyuhyun’s waning spirits with every word. Kyuhyun breathed hard then suddenly balled his fingers into a fist and sprang at the owner of the voice, punching the rude, slobbering body with his clutched fist. Kyuhyun was dying inwardly, he was. But he couldn’t let Yesung down. Not when Yesung provided the very reason Kyuhyun needed to live on; no not Yesung, he couldn’t let him down.

“Shut up! Shut up!” He growled, repeating the words until they buzzed furiously in his ears. His hands pelted against the seemingly rock-like stature of the pathetic man before him. “Shut up!” He said it once more, with a sort of desperation trembling through his voice. His balled fist drooped low and he hung his head feeling the tears run down his cheeks. They ran down thickly, steadily. He looked down and whispered once more, “Shut up...”

        He didn’t know why he was saying it anymore. He didn’t know why he let his guard down, why he let tears run down his eyes. He brushed them aside gruffly and walked away not caring to glance at the bemused being he had been assaulting. He picked up his painting and walked away from the place; that dingy, dark, negative place that he was forced to live in. He walked further with a renewed determination; a kind of desperate determination. He told himself that he had to earn, if not for his sake, for his family, for Yesung. He didn’t have the courage to watch Yesung starve.

“Painting for sale! Terrific bargain, Sir. Hello Ma’am, would you care to glance at the painting?” He stood in the very centre of all activity and shouted as he had never done before. He didn’t know if it was the right way to be advertising a painting. Heck, he didn’t know if a painting had to even be advertised. But he didn’t care. He needed his money. He needed his food. He needed to feed Yesung.

“Sir, Ma’am? Excuse me? Would you--?” It was a seemingly hopeless task. There was no dearth of humanity that seemed to surge past his painting. But they never stopped to look at the thin, frail man clutching the painting with trembling hands and wide eyes. They never took a moment out of their busy lives to help one of their own. It was as though he was invisible, like he never existed in their eyes. He felt the world before him collapse. He pinched himself and assured himself that he did exist. Because sometimes, when you’re ignored too much, you begin doubting your existence. And that’s exactly what seemed to happen to Kyuhyun.

       Kyuhyun dropped down, letting his knees give way. It was useless, so useless. He buried his face in his hands and heaved a little sigh of despair and waited. He waited to watch his own uselessness cover his irresponsible body. He murmured a slight apology to Yesung and waited. That’s all he could do. He waited.

“I don’t mind buying that crap from you, man.” A nasal, irritating tone suddenly rushed through Kyuhyun’s ears. He looked up and saw a ratty looking man, picking his teeth and looking positively unclean. Kyuhyun controlled the rising anger that seemed to smother his rationality and asked eagerly, “Sir, how much can you buy this from me for?”

“2000 won, no more.” The rat-faced man said calmly. Kyuhyun’s heart stood on an edge as he heard the number rumble through his body. 2000 won was barely enough to fill a child’s stomach and he had to make do with that for two. But then what choice did he have? He wasn’t in a position to bargain. He couldn’t. He had to accept all the that was being dealt to him with such liberal hands.

His voice quivered and he said slowly, “It’s yours, Sir. Thank you.” He held out his painting, watching his hard-work, his passion, his imagination sell out for a mere 2000 won. The other man extended an arm holding a thin wad of notes with Kyuhyun gripped eagerly. His stomach growled louder as he pocketed the money akin to an animal. That’s was his penury had propelled him to become – an animal. He nimbly ran up to the first dingy street store he could find and held out the notes.

“Give me whatever I can get for so much. But two of whatever you give me, please?” And his stomach growled in assent.

The shopkeeper flicked a piece of dirt from his unclean ears and looked at the money with a shrewd glance, “Ye won’t get ’nuff fo one person and ye wanta feed two?”

“Just give the food here.” Kyuhyun said wearily, passing his bony fingers over his throbbing temple.

“Fine, here ya go. Enjoy.” There was a glimmer of sarcasm and cackling in his tone. Kyuhyun’s hand automatically closed upon the frugal meal of dry bread with a hungry grip. He walked a little further, resisting the attempt to let the food finally reach his hollow stomach. He had to wait until he reached Yesung. He couldn’t eat without him.

           He pushed open the little battered gate and walked in a little distance. He looked around slowly, waiting to catch sight of his lover, almost relishing the moment when his eyes would wander across the perfect stature of Yesung. He tilted his slightly aching head backward and waited for Yesung to show himself. And when he did, it was a moment of absolute brilliance. Kyuhyun stared wholesomely at the near-perfect figure sitting so nonchalantly on the marble flooring, leaning casually against the granite stone embedded in the ground. Kyuhyun’s breath caught up in his throat, his voice choked and he felt the overwhelming sense of love he always did when he saw his lover once more.

           It was always like this; it never changed. He had seen Yesung just the previous day. But even saw with the dawn of each day, there was always something new to wonder at, something new to adore, something new to love in Yesung. It’s what Kyuhyun liked the most about him; his ever-lasting ability to surprise him. The hollow feeling in the pit of Kyuhyun’s stomach disappeared magically as he walked silently across to Yesung, carrying the pitiful amount of bread in his trembling hands. He set it down on the marble and sat down himself, slowly extending his arm to give half of his sorry meal to Yesung.

            Sometimes, he would try to edge in a little more, give Yesung a little more than what was needed. Kyuhyun didn’t mind going hungry. But Yesung never took the extra share. Whatever they had was equally shared, or it wasn’t shared at all. It was one of the most beautiful things about their relationship.

            Kyuhyun’s eyes seemed to alight with a sort of sad, pathetic expression as he handed over the measly meal to Yesung. His eyes seemed to apologize. They seemed to say, “I’m sorry, Yesung, this is all I could get. Forgive me.” Although they never spoke to each other, their expressions, gestures and nods were enough to convey all that was needed. There was pure silence when they met; pure silence that was b with passionate love for the other. It was beautiful, really.

          Yesung would never eat with Kyuhyun. He would always accept the food, but wait until Kyuhyun had eaten his last morsel and swallowed every bit of it. He would wait until Kyuhyun stood up and bid him a silent goodbye, leaving Yesung’s share on the marble. It was one of the inexplicable things about Yesung. It was something of a tradition they had been observing and Kyuhyun had long since decided against questioning it.

        Kyuhyun would chew slowly, revelling in the presence of his lover. He would enjoy every bit of his time with Yesung and when the last morsel of food would graze past his throat, he would stand up with a sorrowful gaze fixed on Yesung. Yesung would smile back comfortingly. There was always tomorrow to come back for. They would meet again. And Kyuhyun would nod with a determined gaze and stride back outside into the dark, risky world where once again he would have to struggle to make ends meet, where once again he would have to sell his imagination for mere nothingness, where again the world would hurl abuses at him. But he bore through it all, because he had the evening to look forward to. He had Yesung to look forward to.

         Today too, Kyuhyun stood up and looked carefully at Yesung almost memorizing every strand of perfect dark hair that adorned his head.

“Don’t forget to finish your food!” Kyuhyun called out, just like he always did, pointing at the little piece of bread placed carefully on the marble. The food would always be gone when he came the next day so he could safely assume Yesung was eating it. But he never forgot to bid Yesung a goodbye with the sentence. It was just one of the many things he did.

          Come next morning. It was one of those days which begin with a bad omen, when you know the day is going to go without a good sign, when you know your day is, quite literally, going to . It was one of those days for Kyuhyun. Nothing seemed to go right. He woke up with a queasy feeling in his stomach. He woke up with a throbbing head. His eyes were droopy and puffy. His hands refused to function. He stared at the empty canvas for hours together, not knowing what to paint. His hands refused to move. His imagination refused to flow out. He felt almost dead.

             He struggled. He tried. He shouted at himself. He rebuked himself. He told himself that if he didn’t work harder, he wouldn’t be able to earn money, he wouldn’t be able to feed Yesung. That Yesung would starve because of him. But what difference did it make to his battered spirits. His canvas rumbled before his eyes, but his hands would not paint. He couldn’t make it through.

            He walked outside, a lonely man, a hungry man who had to acquire food somehow; not for himself but for his love. He contemplated stealing; that’s how far-gone he was; but he knew Yesung would never eat something that wasn’t morally his own. So Kyuhyun struggled, he reduced himself to the status of a mere beggar. He begged for food to feed Yesung. He offered to do menial, mechanical work. He didn’t care. He just needed money or food.

            His efforts paid off in a bitter-sweet way. He acquired a little portion of food; so measly, so tiny that it was almost ridiculous to part it into two halves. He walked back to Yesung with the food in tow. He stared at Yesung, tears trickling down his cheek as he did. He seemed to become more irresponsible with each passing day. He placed the little portion before Yesung hesitantly. His voice choked in his throat as he struggled to speak, “I-I’m sorry. That’s all I could manage. H-Help yourself.” Kyuhyun couldn’t live with himself any more. He found his own self pathetic. He looked away at the fading sky and tried to stay calm, stay strong. He tried.

“You know something, Kyuhyun,” Yesung said softly, his voice curling down Kyuhyun’s ears in a beautiful melody, “I don’t really need this.”

“Yes, you do.” Kyuhyun spluttered softly, but with a sudden fierce determination in his voice, “You do need it and don’t try to tell me otherwise. You need it!”

“I wonder when you’ll learn to accept the reality, Kyuhyun,” Yesung murmured sadly, “You know it in your heart. I wonder why you never accept it. I really don’t need it.” He came forward and placed one cold palm on Kyuhyun’s chest, feeling the thriving heart through the thin of the shirt. “You should let go and move on.”

“I have nothing to let go and nowhere to move on to! I’m being a loving husband and bringing you food. So be nice and eat it. You need it, much more than I do.” The urgency in Kyuhyun’s voice seemed to awaken dormant soul. He tried hard to block the thoughts from coming in. He tried to mask the fact through constant stifling. He tried to hold on to his illusions like a man in the grips of insanity. He didn’t want to part with his illusions. They were real to him. They were what propelled him to live each day.

        Yesung looked back at Kyuhyun with eyes so sad and said softly, “I’m sorry Kyuhyun, let go of your illusions. Let go of them.” His voice died away. His body seemed to wither away in the moonlight beautifully, petal by petal, evaporating into what seemed like fairy dust. Kyuhyun watched with terror in his eyes as he tried to call out, “Yesung! Don’t! Please!” But Yesung continued to fade away, a beautiful being in the starry night. Kyuhyun dropped to his knees, cupping his head in his hands. He felt a sudden breath of air pass around him, through him. A sudden chill ran through his body and he felt a rising sense of calmness. A silent voice softly sang, “I’m no more, Kyuhyun. It’s time you accepted that.”

           Kyuhyun touched the marble with tender hand. His fingers lightly ran over the inscription embedded on the tombstone of granite that proclaimed Yesung’s death to have occurred six months ago. He had survived six months with the shadows of Yesung’s memories; with the illusions of his being alive. But he couldn’t survive any more. He had let gone of his illusions, his false beliefs. He had learnt to accept the truth. But it had come at a price.

            The next morning when the caretaker of the graveyard entered, he found a cold corpse of a thin, frail young man sprawled on the marble covering Yesung’s grave, with a piece of bread clutched in his fist. He shuddered a little then got to work, burying the young man beside Yesung as was his wish. He dug the ground and inserted the cold remains of Kyuhyun into the shallow depression. It was a quiet solemn affair, watched only by Yesung’s concerned gaze. So there lay Kyuhyun, beside his love, beside Yesung. And there they remain till this date.

          The funny part is that there are never any wreaths or flowers or bouquets adorning their graves. After all, they had no one other than each other in the world. But there would always food placed on their graves; maybe a delicacy, an edible, but always food.

Every single evening.

         Sometimes it’s bread; sometimes it’s a bowl of soup. Sometimes, it only stands silently on Yesung’s grave while Kyuhyun’s remains bare. But there’s always food. Always.

         Think what you might. But I like to think Kyuhyun never forgot his responsibility; that he looks after Yesung even in the afterlife. That they still meet every evening and share a moment of romance. That they live a life of beautiful love even after their deaths. And a piece of bread seems to adorn their graves a number of times.

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Oh God, what did I do to them? I killed them. Forgive me! OTL /cries