Some people consider writing a novelty. A useful extra when they're too far away to speak their thoughts and feelings. But for me? Writing is not only an art, but a way of life. Without the ability to write I would be silent to the outside world, because drawing letters onto paper or typing up words is my way of speaking. Nobody has heard my voice since I was a child, and I plan on keeping it that way.

It also brings me money. I write novels, romance novels...not that people know it's me. I write under the name 'Kim Oh-hae'- a kind middle aged woman with a loving family, living in Seoul. An invention of course, to hide the truth from the public. Who'd know that a book would sell more copies if the teenage readers didn't know it was written by a mute introverted male who lived off instant noodles in the basement-turned-office of his house?

That was where I sat with my blonde hair tied on top of my head so it wouldn't distract me as I typed viciously to meet my self-set deadline. My life revolved around imaginary deadlines- finish a chapter by 11, research by 2, clean the house by 4, find some time for eating in between. It made me feel like my life had purpose and meaning, but that was an illusion too. How could living a life from lists be meaningful? A harsh buzzing sound cut through those dark thoughts and I blinked, looking up in the general direction of the front door; But when the sound repeated I sighed and grabbed a battered notepad and pen from my desk before trudging up the stairs to answer. 

"Hyukjae!" A figure lunged forward and trapped me in a tight hug, giggling as I let out a muffled squeak of surprise. When he finally let go, ruffling my hair for good measure, kind and smiling eyes met mine. "How's my second favourite dongsaeng today?"

I pouted back at him for a second before flipping open my pad and scribbling. I could write almost as fast as the average person talks by now, so it didn't take me long to write what I wanted to say.

'You have a key to my house, Sungmin hyung, use it. Who's your first favourite dongsaeng?' I'd added a cute sad face at the end, which earned me another laugh and hair ruffle.

"I think my brother would be a little offended if he wasn't my first favourite, don't you think? He misses you by the way. You should visit him more."

I wrinkled my nose thinking of the younger's noisy university dorm with the curious looks sent my way and messy plates on every surface, but all the same I felt bad. 'I'm sorry, I've been working really hard to finally finish this book...'

"You're always working really hard to finish a book Hyuk...I swear I see them everywhere recently." Sungmin stretched, looking about the modest surroundings, "I'll never understand why you don't move out of here, you must get a pretty generous pay packet from all that."

I shrugged as a reply, still blushing at the idea of my books being popular. Of course, Sungmin was probably exaggerating, but it gave me a pleasant thrill to think of adverts or conversations about the books I'd poured so much time and effort into. Instead of answering his probing question, I wrote 'coffee?' Before walking into the kitchen without waiting for him to reply. 

Regarding money, let's just say I was subscribed to a lot of charity schemes. I kept enough to live comfortably and put a little into savings every month, but otherwise I had no ambitions of being rich or buying a big house. Who would want a big house all by themselves? Besides...My writing was always to escape, never to earn money or fame.

Sungmin was one of those strange people who actually found enjoyment drinking coffee without sugar, but I definitely had a sweet tooth; So I made a Hot Chocolate for myself, humming along to the music still drifting up from the basement. I couldn't write without music, and I couldn't listen to music without humming along, so I did it a lot. My voice probably would have deteriorated to nothing by now if I didn't, so I guess the habit was a good thing, and Sungmin seemed to agree, chuckling softly when he heard me.

"You know, you should be a singer, Hyuk. You can sure reach those high notes when you're humming." He commented while I struggled with a Mariah Carey song, sipping the coffee I placed in front of him with a faraway look. I only offered a lopsided smile in response, looking down at the frothy surface of my own drink. Sungmin teased me like that, we were close enough, but I knew deep down it hurt him not to hear me speak. He thought it was because I didn't trust him enough. He didn't understand...

After that he mostly just chatted about everything going on in his life, as usual, and I liked hearing it. I always missed his animated voice when he left, which is why that familiar feeling knotted in my stomach when he got up saying something about picking up his girlfriend from university.

"I'm taking her out for a meal tonight to treat her for all her hard work," He grinned, "She completes her degree pretty soon, so we'll finally be able to pay the rent and still have money to spare."

'Sungmin hyung...would you like any money? You know I don't mind giving you some.' He quickly began to reject my offer, but met my eyes. I flipped over the page, pausing before I wrote 'It's the least I could do for you.'

"Well...it would be nice." He admitted sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck, "But you don't need to thank me Hyuk. You don't owe me anything, I look out for you because I want to."

In response I hugged him, writing out a check for $2000 which made him panic all over again, trying to return it until I pressed it firmly into his chest. Just before he left he turned back, looking conflicted. I cocked my head at him. 

"I was just thinking...maybe you should...try to find somebody. Anybody would be lucky to have you Hyuk and, it might help...it might help you to come out of your shell." He seemed to be struggling, he must have thought about it a lot. So I nodded at him, smiled, waved, closed the door. Only then did I sigh.

If only it was as simple as falling in love with a mysterious stranger who sorted out my messed up mind for me...but that was something I had to do for myself. My hands shook as I walked to my room and went over to my bed, pulling out a dusty shoebox from underneath. Inside I ignored the faded polaroids, baby clothes and letters, picking up a threadbare monkey toy with both of my hands.

It's fur had worn away in some places, and it had lost most of it's stuffing over time where it's head had been sewn back on very messily with thick string and still flopped around on it's neck. This was my reminder, why I shouldn't talk to anybody, and why I shouldn't love anybody again.

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There was a little boy curled up in the corner of a dirty motel room, gently a fluffy toy monkey and trying not to shiver against the cold. His hair was slightly matted, and there was an angry purple bruise across his cheek. He wore an army-issue style blanket over a vest and shorts.

"Lee Hyukjae!"

The boy's hand stopped the monkey, balling his hand into its fur instead as he gasped and desperately attempted to blink back the tears suddenly welling in his eyes. Tears would only make everything worse. A man swaggered in wearing a winter coat and stamping snow off his shoes, the smell of stale beer filling the small room. It was a smell he’d had been raised on, like the scent of self-raising flour or cheap floral perfume for other children, it was the smell of home…if he could call this home.

"Get out for a bit, would you? I found some girl that I want to bring in here. I'll give you some money, get some sweets or something."

"B-but d-d...dad..." He winced when the large man began to glare at him, "It's c-cold..."

"What have I told you about speaking properly?" Snarling, he picked the boy from the floor by his hair, ignoring the yelp of pain that escaped him, "Be a man about it, it'll only be for half an hour."

"I c-c..." The more panicked he became, the more his stutter became prominent, and he let out a choked sob as the words he wanted wouldn't come.

"How did I raise a son like this?" The man muttered in disgust after the boy started to cry. With a sudden glint in his eye, he grabbed the monkey rested in the child's limp hand, "I'll give you one more chance."

"N-no! Dad p-p-please!" He shrieked, stretching for his precious possession. 

"Repeat after me without stuttering, and you get this thing back. 'I am a man'." 

Looking in horror at his monkey, the boy shook his head, tears streaming down his cheeks. He couldn't do it. He couldn't.

"You get three tries, Hyukjae. I'm waiting."

"I...I'm a m-m..." He bit his lip hard enough to pierce the skin, distressed as his first chance was wasted. "I-I'm a..."

His dad's raised eyebrows and sadistic smile suddenly hardened his resolve. He could do it! It was all about breathing and nerves, right? He had to get his monkey back.

"I....am...a...m-man."

The next thing he was aware of was soft fluff landing in his hair. His monkey's head was now lying by the door, it's body still in his father's clenched fist, and as he realised what had happened he wailed in despair. He didn't even notice the sharp slap across the face that sent him tumbling to the ground or the shouting and kicks that ensued, all that registered in his childlike mind was the fluffy remains of his treasured possession stuck to his tearstained cheeks.

"Get out of my sight." The man growled, slamming the door on the 7 year old along with the monkey head and body.

Hyukjae didn't go home that night. Or the next. Or the next.

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.....hello *A* This was the first chapter, I'm sorry if it was boring but I really wanted to set up Hyukjae's character. Do you like him so far? I....I like him but I'm biased heh. I'm going to try and write more of this while I'm in France with no internet so they'll probably be an update for this soon anyway~ (and...Mr Lee if you happen to read that). Thank you for reading down to here, especially my boring authors note, please let me know if it's any good!!- Jess <3