//Tbh this is the fastest story I've ever written. This can also be read on my livejournal.

“Mommy! He’s here again! There’s a monster under my bed, he’s really there, I promise!” Little feet patter down the hallway towards the master bedroom.

“Youngjae? Is that you again? Shh, be quiet. Daddy’s just fallen asleep, and he’s very tired, try not to wake him up, okay?” his mother consoles. “I promise there are no monsters under in your closet, do you want me to check for you?”

“No mommy! Not in my closet, he’s under my bed! I saw him there, I saw a shadow there, it’s really there!” Youngjae answers, this time in a whisper as he hooks his arms around his mother’s neck. 

His mother laughs softly. “Alrighty, then, Mr. Youngjae. Under your bed, we’ll check under your bed.” They head to his room and look beneath the bed, only to see the carpet covering the floor. “See? There aren’t even dust bunnies. Now go on back to sleep.” 

“But, I heard him! I swear, I heard him, Mommy, please!” Youngjae cries, holding onto his mothers hand.

Youngjae’s mother sighs, and shakes him off. “Youngjae. It’s not there anymore. Please. Go back to bed now, sweetheart.” She kisses his forehead and leaves the room, turning off the light.

Youngjae is left alone in the darkness. He sits in the very middle of his bed, afraid. He hears something under his bed again, and gathering up his courage, leans over the edge of his bed and looks down. A pair of slanted eyes are blinking back up at him from the darkness, illuminated only by the moonlight. He sees a beauty mark on the left eyelid, before the eyes turn away and melt into the shadows.

Youngjae wakes up, shaking off the memory. His pillow is, once again, wet with his tears shed during the night. “Do you think I’ll ever stop crying?” he asks into his empty room. There’s no response. 

He prepares himself for school, and as he reaches his desk to gather his textbooks, he sees the moonstone that must have been left for him in the night. He carries it in his hand for the rest of the day. 

It’s warm. There’s no rain. The sun is out too. Youngjae wonders why the rest of the world isn’t mourning with him. He just stands there. He doesn’t even shed a tear when they lower her into the earth. He must be in shock. People pass by him, talking as if he is deaf. Maybe he is deaf. The words don’t register, but he’ll remember them in years past. 

“Leaving behind her family, too.”

“The poor boy, so young to lose his mother.”

“How old is he, six?”

“There’s no way his father will be able to raise him right.”

“It’s his fault for not being a caring enough husband that she’s dead.”

“Oh, hush. He’ll hear you.”

“Such a shame, she was too pretty to have died so young.” Beauty can’t fight death. Nothing can.

The casket was closed for the ceremony. No amount of make-up could cover the scars left on his mother’s body, especially what the rope had carved into her neck. 

That night, he doesn’t sleep, and finally cries, sitting on the floor and leaning against his bed. A small, pale hand reaches out from beneath, and leaves a dirty handkerchief on the floor next to him, before quickly retreating. Youngjae doesn’t bother getting his mother. 

The sun is shining into his eyes the next morning as he gets up, pillow damp. He sighs as he shuffles out of bed. The house is silent as he prepares himself for the day. 

There is another stone on his desk, this time a hyacinth gemstone. Though it isn’t enough to make him smile yet, he doesn’t frown that day. 

“Hey, Dad?” Youngjae asks, peeking through the doorway. There’s only a groan in reply. “Dad, I… I had a nightmare,” Youngjae stutters. His father finally gets up, and walks over to where Youngjae cowers in the doorway. 

“What do you want from me,” his father asks, eyes menacing and angry. But Youngjae can also see the sorrow mixed in. When he doesn’t reply, his father growls, growing impatient. “I asked you a question.”

Youngjae takes a hesitant step back. “I- nothing. Sorry I bothered you,” he answers, his reply trailing off into a whisper. 

His father shakes his head before shoving Youngjae aside and walking away. Youngjae’s head smacks against the door knob, but he doesn’t cry out. He slinks back to his room quietly, and leans back against his bed. He can hear the monster shifting around under the bed. It seems to say, “I’m sorry.”

Youngjae dejectedly laughs. “No, that’s okay. It’s not your fault,” he says, leaning his head against his knees. “You know, I used to think that you were the monster, but now I’m thinking that Dad is. Sorry. That wasn’t a nice thing to say. I’m sure he’s just upset about mommy.” Youngjae ignores the hand that reaches out and climbs into bed instead, attempting to sleep. 

He wakes up that morning, and lies in bed for a little bit longer, thinking about his memories, not bothering to wipe away the tears rolling down the sides of his face. 

He jolts out of bed when he hears a door slam, cursing as he rushes to get to school, missing the obsidian stone left on his desk that morning. 

Youngjae sits alone in his room, crying. He’s crying silently, out of habit, even though there’s nobody home to be wary of. He’s older now, and so much more alone than he ever was before. He feels like he’s suffocating. He feels like nobody cares. Nobody does care. Except maybe a monster, maybe a figment of his imagination. Maybe he’s going crazy. He lifts up the blade to his wrists. Pain is real. Pain will bring him back to reality. He’ll wake up, then. He gets in one sharp cut, blood dripping down his forearm, before a hand reaches out and slaps the blade away. It’s not his hand. 

He’s crying, loudly this time. He’s crying into somebody’s shoulder, somebody he hasn’t seen before, but somebody he’s met. He can hear the monster singing to him softly, as he slowly falls asleep to the soft lullaby. He's not a monster. He's a friend. 

The next morning, he wakes up. His wrist is wrapped in a bandage, and his hand is held in another’s. It’s dark. The pillow is wet, again, but it isn’t his. 

His father came home that day to an empty house.