Word Count: 4535
Written/Posted: 05/21/2015 - 05/22/2015
Characters: Changjo, Niel
Group: Teen Top

Because I like sharing:

Regret was a funny, twisted thing, and complicated.  And still, it lingered on the edge of his mind – especially in the twilight hours, when he stayed awake too late, or was up too early to crawl out of bed.  He had mused for endless hours, and still had no answer when it came to the strange line, the things he wished he could go back and change, and the decisions that somehow became the greatest blessings in his life.  Choi Jonghyun, Changjo, was a lucky bastard, and he knew it.  He regretted, though, that so much of his good luck had caused so much hurt to someone else.

At the beginning, the only thing that he regretted was getting caught.  He didn’t regret the way that Niel felt in his arms, or the way that his lips were so soft, tasting faintly of mint.  He didn’t regret the way the lean, slender body felt pressing close against his own.  Nor regret threading his fingers into the soft, silken hair, pulling him into a kiss.  He never regretted kissing Ahn Daniel when they were only fifteen-and-sixteen, hidden away at the back of the locker room.

They hadn’t seen the kiss, Changjo knew that.  If they had, it would have played out entirely differently.  They hadn’t known that he had been the one to breach the tension between them.  It looked, to the outsider in that split-second, that Niel had been the aggressor – and there was no masking the intimacy of the contact.  

All three were older classmen, all bigger than him – much bigger than Niel, who hadn’t hit his growth spurt yet.  The older male didn’t have a moment of hesitation, despite their threatening demeanors.  Niel puffed up like a kitten, and seemed every bit as small and defenseless in the moment.  Changjo could see it almost painfully clearly in his mind.  They would hurt Changjo – and worse, Niel.  

He would tell himself a thousand times after that moment, that he had done it to protect Niel, who despite his inner strength, was so fragile.  That was why he had shoved the more slender male away from himself, interrupting before the upperclassmen could act.  He felt justified, only briefly, that it seemed to stop their actions, but not the words – directed not at him, but only to Niel, already so different than the other students.

He was trying to protect Niel.  But he hadn’t the foresight to realize that his actions would nearly destroy him.

The elder had tried, tentatively, to talk to him – to find out what was going on.  Changjo could see the hurt and confusion in him.  But they were still on campus, and the younger male, infinitely more popular, with the easy charisma that seemed to find him friends wherever he went, had panicked again.  And he rejected the oldest friend that he’d had, trying to cement the fact that no, he was not like that.  Only a boy that was a freak would like other boys.

So he stole his best friend’s first kiss, then broke his heart.  

That was the first, the worst, regret – but it was followed by so many more.  He tried, only once, to go to his house and see him.  For the first time, Changjo realized that David could be very scary when pressed, and he edged away before Niel’s older brother could explain his thoughts on the situation – knowing the older teen, it would have been with his fists.  He had known David as long as he’d known Niel, since they were toddling around the apartment complex their parents had shared, but the battle lines were drawn clearly.

Hell broke loose at school.  The ones that had caught them were the worst of their kind.  Changjo wondered, always wondered, why Niel hadn’t told the truth, told everyone that Changjo was the one to make the first move.  That question went unanswered for nearly a decade, but it was so simple.  For a while, he walked in a daze, but he found himself somehow surrounded with friends, like Cap and L-Joe, neither of whom demonstrated any love lost for his once best-friend.

The duo seemed happy to almost adopt him, dragging him to parties.  Changjo’s grades plummeted, and he lost the chance to go to his dream school – another regret, but one that ceased to hurt so badly.  Not when there were so many other mistakes that he had made.  

He didn’t know who set up the sick joke, and hoped he never would.  But someone had written some kind of note to Niel, and had him come out.  Changjo didn’t think the boy expected to see him, from the surprise, and the immediate hurt on his face.  The younger was half-drunk, disheveled, leaving a party with his friends beside him, cheering him on, jeering at Niel.

He remembered the moment clearly.  It must have been, he imagined, how a blind man must feel first seeing a flower, or a deaf man the first chords of a melody.  Niel wasn’t in his uniform – he was taller then, broadening a little, but still seeming so small.  He was beautiful, and Changjo had felt his mouth go dry, fingers itching to touch, part of him wanting to wrap both arms around the boy and plead for forgiveness or else he wouldn’t let go.

Changjo was used to hiding though, and he was so buried into this act that had taken over, that he had done nothing but turn on his heel, not sparing the boy a word.  He couldn’t bear to look back, but Cap and L-Joe had crowed with laughter, telling the youngest too many times about the crushed expression his once-friend had worn.  He spent hours wondering if they would ever understand how much it hurt him to hear those things, to think of Niel, who had never done anything wrong, hurting in his stead.

The distraction passed quickly, it had to.  As the rest of his classmates immediately began making demands – he was one of the kingka’s of the school – where was his girl?  There were dozens swooning at his feet, but Changjo couldn’t bring himself to care about them.  He understood, basically, that they were attractive – but even the most stunning to him was no better than an ice cream sundae.  He could appreciate looking, even tasting those kisses in drunken bouts, but there wasn’t anything remotely ual about it.

It didn’t help that every pair of lips that pressed to his, he would just think of Niel’s.  It wasn’t fair.  He was a scumbag, and he knew it.  But he couldn’t go back.  He had dug too deep, and he had to keep digging, and hope that there was some light on the other side.  Looking back, he only wished that someone would have hit him upside the head with the shovel he was using.  The only thing in that hole was darkness, and if he kept pressing, it could cave in on him. 

Inevitably, it did.

He had met Sulli at one of the parties.  She was new at school, and he was nearly wasted, she had stuck out at him like a sore thumb.  She was pretty, more so than most he’d known.  Though she blushed shyly when they were introduced, she didn’t throw herself at him, the way so many other girls did.  She was shy and sweet – and her lips were so familiar to him, on the wrong face.

He regretted drinking, regretted the way that he would forget it was Sulli that he was talking to, because she was wonderful on her own.  He would get so blitzed he could barely walk or think straight, pretend that the girl who he knew was falling for him – was someone else entirely.  But there was no abuse for being with Sulli, no judgement or condemnation.  They whooped and cheered at the couple, and Changjo would kiss her until he forget everything but the feel of those lips against his.

He kept on the same destructive path, even as high school drew to a close – Niel had gone on to college.  Changjo didn’t even know where.  He graduated, barely, but wasn’t accepted to any schools, not with his grades in the state that they were in.  By some miracle, Sulli stayed by him – probably the only reason he didn’t drink himself to death in the aftermath of school, or get involved into drugs.

She was pregnant before he turned twenty.  And she had been so happy, and when Changjo heard, the only thing he wanted to do was run.  He couldn’t be a father.  Fathers were supposed to be strong, sure, able to do the right thing.  He worked, but barely kept the apartment they shared afloat, and couldn’t have done it without Sulli’s help.  Changjo couldn’t do the right thing for himself, much less those around him.  Sulli had told him, only two months along, that it was going to be a boy, a big, strong boy like his father.  She wanted to name him Henry.

Changjo objected, telling her an English name was going to make life too hard for him, he would be teased.  He remembered how much Niel had hated his given name growing up.  Sulli had set her delicate jaw, pursed those full lips, and pressed her hand against the gentle swell in her abdomen.  His name is Henry, she told him.  When you give birth to the next one, you can name him.

He had to admit – her fire drew him, where no other woman caught his attention in the least.  Especially because it was hidden beneath so many layers of sweetness.  It was a side to Sulli only seen if she knew you, and loved you.  He would never, ever say so aloud, not to Sulli, but it reminded him almost painfully of Niel, whom he had fallen in love with long before he understood what the emotion was.

He tried to tell himself that this tragedy was the only one in his life that hadn’t been his doing, but he couldn’t believe.  He had been driving.  He had been the one that wanted to go home.  He was sober though, it was the rain.  He skid.  They’d rolled.  He’d been covered in lacerations and bruises, the car crumpling in against him, the worst of it a badly broken arm.  But Sulli had been thrown out of the car entirely.  He woke up in the hospital, and been told that he would be okay, but they hadn’t been able to hid it from him.  Sulli had been hurt too badly, her skull had broken.  She was brain dead – her body still living, but she was never going to wake up again.

She was hooked up to a life support system, though, because she was pregnant – and by some miracle, she hadn’t any abdominal damage.  It was a hideous exchange – if she’d been wearing her seatbelt, their baby would’ve died.  Instead, the baby was fine, but he lost Sulli.  She was six months along.  It was a boy.  

And Changjo had crumpled.  He gave up on everything.  He refused to eat, to drink, to see anyone, not that his so-called friends made any effort to find him again.  He willed himself to die, because no parent at all would be better than Changjo could be.  He told the doctors the boy was to be called Henry, but it was the last thing he ever intended to say.

He woke up two weeks later, ready to be discharged, with his hand held by someone else.  He tried to pull his hand free, but they didn’t let go.  He figured it was his parents, maybe; they were the only ones that persisted in being there.  He didn’t say anything, not wanting to hear his own voice.  He tried to curl away, but when his eyes slid past, everything in the world froze.

It didn’t make sense.  Sitting in the chair beside him, taller than him now, but still long and slender and heartbreakingly beautiful.  His hair was longer than he remember, a caramel-brown color pulled back into a small ponytail.  His eyes were dark and somber, and the full lips were exactly as he’d seen so many times in his dreams.  Changjo didn’t speak, still, but it was because he couldn’t.

For the first time in his life, Changjo broke down entirely, sobbing until everything inside of him was raw and aching.  Tears burned paths like acid down his cheeks, and he was nearly sick from the force of them.  Niel didn’t let go of his hand, didn’t try to calm him, but a gentle hand slipped into his hair and petted him until he ran out of tears – until he could breathe again.  Only then did the elder let go.

Niel’s full lips pressed against his forehead, and a sad smile graced them, and then he left the room.  “Don’t give up on him,” the words were gentle – the first Changjo had heard from the soft voice in years.  Then he slipped outside, far from Changjo’s reach, the younger unable to chase him, struck too dumb to call him back.

His mother had been the one to call his childhood friend, he’d found out, terrified that Changjo would simply let himself waste away.  He begged her to make him come back.  He had nothing, now.  His friends had abandoned him, Sulli, the only one left who loved him, would never wake up, but was kept alive until his son, a stranger, came into being.  The only thing he had left was more regrets than he could count.  He didn’t deserve it, he knew it, admitted it as he cried.  But he needed Niel.  Needed him like a life jacket to keep himself afloat before he drowned.  Because he loved Niel.  He had realized long before that he always would; he just didn’t deserve forgiveness.

He should have known better.  It wasn’t up to Changjo to forgive himself; simply put, he never would.  He still hadn’t.  He hadn’t been ready – couldn’t be – for the day that Henry was “born.”  The cesarean had gone smoothly, but Changjo couldn’t be there – couldn’t watch.  He’d seen Sulli only once since the accident, finding watching her nearly unbearable.  She wasn’t his Sulli anymore, and if he had to admit that he hadn’t been in love with her – he still loved her.

They’d brought Henry to him, all pink cheeks and cooing, and so unbelievably beautiful, he couldn’t believe it was halfway from him.  He’d learned how to swaddle, to change diapers, how to hold the bottles and feed him.  He learned to burp and bathe his son, with frustration and trial and error, but the love that he felt was beyond anything he felt capable of.

Henry saved him.  Because how could he be completely hopeless if he could make something perfect?  There had to be some hope for Choi Jonghyun, and if that was through his son, then he was going to find a way to do everything right.  He couldn’t just be brave – he had to be fearless.  He had to learn how to keep moving forward.

Henry liked walks, long before he could walk.  And it led Changjo to hefting up his fussy son and going on long, lingering walks around the park.  He liked to show his son the flowers, though he wouldn’t let the tiny fist close on any petals – Henry cried when he realized the flowers were crushed, too young to learn a delicate touch.  He hadn’t noticed he wasn’t alone, holding his son with one arm and showing him a flower with the other.

Niel only offered that same small, enigmatic smile – not open like they once had been, but not feigned.  “He suits you,” the elder said, offering a polite bow before walked off.  Changjo wanted to follow, but again, couldn’t – Henry’s stroller and things were on a nearby bench, and he couldn’t afford to replace them if they were lost.  His son cooed after the strange man – but Niel was gone as quickly as he’d arrived.

He vowed he wouldn’t let him go again.  If he ever saw him again.  He had to tell the elder the truth, and if Niel never forgave him – at least he wouldn’t regret not trying.  Changjo wasn’t sure that he could bear having another regret on his shoulders.

He never thought he would wind up using Henry to make it happen.  He certainly never suspected that he would shove his son into the bewildered Niel’s arms, sure that it was the only way he could stop him from bolting.  He certainly wouldn’t leave while he was still carrying Henry, and he would sooner cut off an arm than hurt someone else – especially a year-old baby.  

It helped his case that Henry was immediately as rapt with Niel as Changjo was, eyes wide as he reached up and patted the man’s cheeks before grasping at his shirt with chubby fists, trying to hold on.  Niel was as shocked by the development as Changjo was, and he froze, instinctively looking to his once-friend to get him out of the situation that he’d been shoved in.  Feeling guilty, he stepped forward to take back his son, but Henry wasn’t having a second of it, face screwing up in tears when they tried to move him.

Eventually, Niel simply shifted his grip, and looked down at the boy he held.  Changjo could see his expression soften.  It was impossible to blame him, after all.  Many babies were cute, but none of them were Henry.  “I call him Mochi,” he said quietly, the first real words he said to the man standing beside him in years.

“His cheeks,” Niel answered easily, reaching to run his finger over one.  Henry cooed at him, and grabbed his finger with one whole fist, making the brunette holding him chuckle aloud.  “Just like yours when you were little.”  The words seemed to draw a certain sobriety out of the elder, and Changjo hated it, wanted to take it back, somehow.  He had seen Niel smiling, really smiling.  But it was gone as quickly as it came.  He moved again to put Henry back into his arms, but Changjo grasped for the elder instead.

“Please, don’t go.  I need…I have so much that I need to tell you.”

There was a long pause, where the barest kernel of hope started in him.  Niel was quiet.  “I don’t know if I’m ready to listen,” he finally said, voice gentle, though Changjo felt it would be fairer if it was harsh.

“Do you – will you ever?” Changjo had to ask, feeling the burn of tears at his eyes he tried to hide.  He couldn’t give up, but he wasn’t sure what he would do if he never had the chance.  He wasn’t ready for the small smile, Niel looking down at Henry in his arms, giving the boy a quick kiss on his head, before Henry was back in his father’s arms.

“Maybe,” came the soft response, his gaze flicking from Changjo to the boy he held.  “Things change.”

Changjo was sure that would be the end of it, but knew that he had to stop chasing Niel.  It wasn’t fair.  He deserved to have a perfect life, with a prince charming and a white horse and shining, silver armor.  And Changjo wasn’t the least of that, and Niel didn’t need him dogging his steps.  But when Henry’s birthday came around, and it was just the two in his apartment, Niel had come, bearing a gift for the two-year-old.

Henry had a few friends from his daycare, but Changjo didn’t.  He’d cut himself off from everyone from his prior life.  He worked, he took care of Henry.  It was the first gift Henry had gotten that didn’t come from the school – and more than Changjo could have afforded.  Henry was immediately off and running, squealing happily, but not before giving Niel a big hug.

The elder hugged him back and watched him go.  Changjo made tea.  And he poured his heart out, words spilling from him without even meaning to.  He found apologies overlapping with pleas, and tears found him again.  He talked until his voice felt raw – after all, he didn’t talk to many people besides his son and coworkers.  He didn’t know what he could realistically expect, what felt like hours later.

Niel didn’t interrupt, nor move to speak even once.  There were times that Changjo could tell that the elder was hurt, sometimes, by the things he said.  He was confused, though, because it never coincided in the stupid things that he’d done that hurt the elder.  He looked most hurt when Changjo confessed his self-destructive behavior, about the hopelessness and pain that he couldn’t escape, the self-recrimination that seemed like it was going to destroy him from the inside out.

He had nearly leapt out of his skin when Niel’s hand slid over his when he spoke of losing Sulli, losing the last sane thread in his life.  He hadn’t physically touched Niel since the day that he had kissed him, nearly seven years before, and his skin burned violently in the wake of the small contact.  His throat tightened, and he clutched at the elder’s fingers, longer, skinnier than his.  “I’ll never forgive myself,” he had told him.

Niel’s eyes had met his, and there was a change – an openness that Changjo never expected.  The wall were up, were guarded, but for the first time he realized that he had a way in.  It wouldn’t be easy, but there was a path, if he was smart enough, stubborn enough to follow it.  “I forgive you, though,” the elder’s voice was gentle.  There were a thousand questions that ran through his mouth, every one of them starting with “why”.  It didn’t surprise him that the word escaped him aloud.

What did surprise him was Niel’s quiet giggle, and a softened expression.  “Because I realized I was in love with you the day you kissed me,” he said gently.  “And I never stopped.”

Changjo vowed in that moment that he would do it right.  He would find a way to do it right.  Because Niel, by all accounts, shouldn’t love him.  Niel should never think of him as more than a hurtful ghost in his past.  He was supposed to pine for the elder for the rest of his life, because he knew he loved Niel, but how could the elder look at him with anything but pity and anger?  But Niel loving him?  That changed…everything.

He had been right.  It was a slow path.  There were times he knew Niel doubted him, still others that Changjo doubted himself.  Henry had been delighted when nice man came around more often, singing him songs, and showing Henry musical instruments.  Changjo knew his son would be a prodigy.  At three, even at three, he could play the small piano that Niel had brought him – and made music, not sounds.

It wasn’t long before Henry loved Niel.  Niel loved Henry.  Changjo loved Niel, and was slowly beginning to realize that the elder had meant it when he said he loved him back.  He wanted everything right away, but it had been a slow thing, inviting the elder into his life, and slowly interjecting himself into Niel’s.

It had been three months before he could kiss Niel, and the moment he did, he was sure that he could die happy.  Niel had giggled against his lips as Changjo had frozen in the moment, but then his cheeks were cupped in the younger’s hands and Changjo kissed him over and over again until both seemed dizzy with it.  Every moment near Niel, touching him, made Changjo feel like his body was being electrocuted.

Niel moved in a year and a half later.  Henry had been ecstatic.  He called Niel “umma” despite the man’s laughing reproach that he was a boy, thank you.  On his fifth birthday, he told Niel that if anything was to happen to him, Henry would go to his custody; he had become as much a parent of the boy as Changjo was.

It was now his sixth birthday, and Changjo had just one final change that he wanted to make.  Niel was sleeping in the bed next to him, face mostly hidden by his disheveled hair.  His lips were swollen from sleep and too many late-night kisses, a love-bite on his shoulder that Changjo was sure he would get a swat for (even though he had two of his own to boast).  He was breathing gently, long legs tangled in the blanket that covered them, looking peaceful.

Changjo knew that this was going to be the scariest day of his life in a long time.  He’d already talked to Henry – too clever by half for a six year old – who had beamed and bounced and demanded that appa not wait.  But things were…more important now.  He had to do it right.  So there was to be a big day of festivities, with breakfast made by Changjo and served with a candle in his pancakes.  Then they would work in the garden.  Because they needed to and they enjoyed it – because Niel had a green thumb and Henry still loved flowers.

Then lunch, shopping, and dinner.  And Henry squirmed every second of the meal, impatient, though Niel could only wonder if it was excitement over the “big gift” they’d promised him – a violin, though Changjo knew that was one secret still-kept.  The box was burning a hole in his pocket throughout the meal, but he forced himself to wait.  He winked at Henry, and the boy leapt into action, demanding Niel’s attention promptly, tugging on his sleeve and chattering away, as ever he did.

Changjo moved carefully then, in front of a packed restaurant, filled with hope and fear, he slipped onto one knee.  He tapped Niel’s shoulder gently, the elder turning, eyes going wide and mouth dropping open.  Words found him again, which was helpful, because as frequently happened, the sight of his lover left him speechless.  But the question tumbled out of him with more grace than he could have hoped for.

And in the next moment, he found himself tackled backwards, and those same lips that had been haunting him for nearly a decade, pressed to his own.  Henry jumped on the pair of them, before he leapt to his feet, running in a circle and loudly, proudly proclaiming it was the best birthday present ever that finally appa and umma would get married.

Niel had blushed, but Changjo had only kissed him again.  The rest of the day was a haze, Henry’s violin forgotten until the following day.  None of them minded.  That night, with Niel spent and sweating and curled up in his arms, exactly as he should be, Changjo fell asleep.  For the first time since he could remember, he had let the poisonous, lingering thoughts sweep away.

Because everyone had regrets, but they had to keep living.  And, yes, Changjo had regrets, had made mistakes.

But today wasn’t one of them.