Title: Pinocchio

Author: [redacted]

Your Giftee: haesthetics

Rating: G

Wordcount: 2770

Warnings (if applicable): allegorical allusions to internalised depression, social commentary of the cynical nature, language

Author/Artist’s note: This was supposed to be a robot AU... but things happened. Hope you like it anyway!

*

Pinocchio

*

It's past noon when Donghae wakes him up, with mischievous whispers in both ears and the tempting aroma of toasts.

No, he murmurs as he turns. Five more minutes, he brushes him off.

But there's toast, Donghae insists.

There's toast! Donghae says, shaking him awake.

Toast!!

Finally, reluctantly forcing his eyelids open, he asks, toast?

Yes, toast. Your favourite, strawberry and syrup. Waking up already?

He seizes Donghae, the crushing weight upon him effectively waking him up.

A kiss please?

*

Some days, when he doesn't get to come home at night, he rumples one of his old sweaters as a pillow and lays his head right beside his drawing board then goes into a hopefully temporary stupor that would be just enough to last him until the next pile is done. Sometimes it's a short 15 minutes and he'll come back as a warrior. Sometimes it's a straight full hour and yet he'll still feel like .

Then when all work is done, he returns home with a pair of swollen eyes and sore neck, smiling apologetically at Donghae and listening to him complain while offering his neck for a soft massage.

You guys work too hard in the company, I bet your necks are all bent to an ugly degree. You told me so late at night that you weren't coming home, I was about to grow mushrooms while waiting for you. And there was nothing interesting to watch on tv. And we are running out of milk. And broccoli. And strawberries. You eat too much strawberries, I didn't even realise they were all gone.

Then he's done complaining and hands him a can of iced latte, prepares the shower for him and heats up the leftovers.

It's really nice to have someone at home waiting for you, he never fails to realise.

*

“The stars form a shape.”

“I suppose they do, I never really notice them.”

“Look at that one, then look at the next one, and the next, and here, look at all the dots.”

“How do you even see them, they are so far away?”

“Doesn't mean they don't exist! Just because you can't see them! I can see them, and that's enough.”

“Alright, alright, so what do you see?”

“Your face.”

“Liar.”

*

His job runs according to schedules, hastened up a few weeks in advance to buffer for all the possible unforeseen circumstances. Like everyone else's jobs, the one that he has makes him overworked, underpaid, badly-fed, frequently frustrated, always agitated—it's bad for the sanity but good for a drinking topic. It's the disease of the youth, as one of his friends, Jungsoo hyung, would say.

“Because we are so tired of being called the lazy generation, we kill ourselves proving that we aren't.”

He doesn't think of much of that—alcohol has a way of muddling up your memories of your friends' words after all—but he has to admit that sometimes things they say haunt him.

When he's redrawing a scene that was supposed to be just 5% less opaque—”Everyone is too busy giving all the s to things that don't matter, find a job that lets you give no , and still earn enough to eat like a king.” Sounds like dear old Youngwoon hyung, if he's remembering all the profanities and stuff.

When he's colouring a scene that got rewritten just because the director hates a line in the script—“A rose by any other name is still a rose; slavery by any other name is still a slavery, the commoners have never won, you know? We have just been fighting it enough to get its name changed.” Heechul hyung in his, surprisingly, most insightfully cynical moments. They have all been a victim of Heechul's verbal brutality in some form or others, especially himself some few years back, but Heechul makes good points once in a while and whenever he does, it sticks.

When he's doing all of the things that he's not supposed to do, only because someone screwed up, he remembers all his friends and how their definition of youth surrounds a group of bitter, disillusioned people with no hopes and dreams, living through alcohol-infused anger that they keep feeding to each other.

However, when he's feeling incurably exhausted and on the verge of giving up, it's never his friends' words of wisdom that fuel him, but Donghae's sleepy murmurs as he calls him in the middle of the night.

*

“I get lonely too, you know?”

“I know.”

“I get worried.”

“I know.”

“Am I supposed to feel that way?”

“I suppose so.”

“Do they mean something?”

“Perhaps they do.”

“I read that it means I'm in love with you.”

“You read too much.”

“I'm not supposed to?”

“Yes, you're not supposed to.”

“How do you know?”

“I just do—

I made you, after all.”

*

“I've been thinking,” Donghae says. He has learned to be slightly apprehensive whenever Donghae says that, because contrary to the possible implication of forewarned perceptiveness, there's usually nothing logical about what Donghae will say after that.

“I need some facial treatment.”

Bingo. He would have spit out his strawberry milk if this was the first time he's hearing it.

“What, feeling unpretty all of a sudden?”

“Not really,” Donghae says, yet he immediately races to the nearest glass surface that he could use as a mirror and begins examining his features. “But you know, I'm feeling a little saggy over at the eyes area and a bit flaky on the cheeks area.”

“Oh, really.”

Donghae looks perfectly fine to him though, but perhaps it's just hormones—but wait, did he include that in his original design? Pretty sure bodily functions customisation wasn't accommodated but he'll worry about that later—speaking, so it's most likely temporary. Like that other time when Donghae watched Lilo and Stitch and insisted that they get an alien dog and wouldn't listen about how aliens don't exist. Or that time they spent the weekend watching all of the Harry Potter movies and Donghae started to summon house elves and wouldn't entertain any word about how magic spells don't work and house elves don't exist. Or that other time about freaking hair dyes. Or when he was wondering about the dog meat culture in Korea.

He's pretty used to Donghae's whims (they kind of entertain him, so he doesn't mind them much) but something about this one, the thing about facial treatments, seems a bit surreally...real?

Really though, of all the things to worry about, facial treatments? He's not even sure if he should be addressing the concern to himself or to Donghae.

*

'What do you want to eat tonight?”

“The usual, please?”

“Uhm...”

“What, you forgot what we usually eat?”

“No, I just want you to think about it.”

“Think about?”

“What you want to eat.”

“Oh.”

“Yes.”

“Ok.”

“Please?”

“Oh, right.”

“Yeah.”

“Dumplings.”

“Oh?”

“Yes.”

“Ok, fried?”

“Steamed. Throat's not feeling to good for fried stuff.”

“Good, I'll wait for you?”

“Might be late.”

“I know.

—but I'll still wait for you.”

“Ok.”

*

“Dude, you look like .” Gunhee greets. A devastatingly handsome (according to himself) hairdresser, Heechul's other (better?) half, expert on fashions and latest trends—yeah he kind of has every right to say that to him.

“I mean dude, you really look like .”

“I know,” he replies, hearing himself in that monotonous tone that's veering on the borderline of explosive displeasure. He's a Korean after all, and they are supposed to be unfamiliar with that brand of sarcasm he usually sees in (dubbed) American shows. Thanks to Donghae, he sometimes finds himself replying to others with phrases often spoken in those shows in his head.

(Inside his head, the reply is, “What do you expect, beauty queen? I just got off the sledgehammer of a meeting!”)

Perhaps that's the symptom of having been talking to yourself more often than necessary.

“Trim? Cut? Dye? Re-style?”

“Hmmm, maybe just trim?”

“No can do,” Heechul yodels from the seat across the room. Absurdly pretty (according to himself—but ok that's kind of indisputable), frustratingly clever, but possesses a disastrous sense of fashion (no wonder he needs Gunhee, and even he's at his wit's end trying to convince Heechul to cut his hair)—is there a point to argue with him that he kind of is in no position to give anyone hairstyle advises.

“Yea, say that to yourself, shaggy bastard.” Gunhee retorts. It's just their way of expressing affections. Strange people.

(He's trying to imagine Donghae calling him “bastard”, but that can't be done without also imagining him bursting into puppy-eyed apologies after that.)

“It's your failure too, smartass. A hairdresser with a boyfriend who looks homeless, wonder what it does to your reputation.”

“So you're my boyfriend now?”

“I don't know, did we break up?”

“I thought we signed the paper this morning.”

“I'll drill that later, but now, you need to make my bestfriend pretty.”

“Prettier than you?”

“That's impossible but I dare you to try.”

“Will you try to date him after that?”

“What?”

“Since you only date people prettier than you and stuff?”

Heechul shrugs. “Not that I never tried to,” he shows Gunhee his middle finger and stalks off, presumably messing around with the cash register to try to insult Gunhee's income in proportion to the number of hours his shop has been opened.

“So.”

Gunhee pats his head and turns it towards the mirror, stares at his face for a minute or two, then breaks into a tiny smile.

“I have just the right one for you.”

*

“You're so pretty.”

“That...is not people say about my face.”

“But you're so pretty.”

“Only to you.”

“I am the world, so the world thinks you're pretty.”

“You're demented—

—thank you. But you're much prettier than I could ever be.

*

When he returns to work on the next day, naturally, his colleagues don't notice any changes.

*

“Hmmm I don't think I need anymore facial treatments.”

“Strange of you to still be harping around it.”

“Are you making fun of my attention span?”

“No, I just...find it strange, ok? No explanations.”

“Ok.”

“So why?”

“Why what?”

“Not needing facial treatments anymore?”

“Don't feel like I need it.”

“Feeling happier these days?”

“What?”

“You know what they say, zits breaking out when you're depressed and stuff? So if you're feeling happy maybe your face also improves?”

“For some reason, I still feel like .”

*

Maybe it's the thing about capitalism and commercialisation or some other economic term he's not familiar about, making sure that the demand is supplied by things that are the exact opposite of it.

Like how theme parks promise magical experiences and endless funs, but are made up of engineers working around the clock and inhumane working hours. Medicines offer cures but at the expense of some other forms of lives. Internet providers dedicated to providing safe browsing by slicing off some innocent workers' sanity.

Even fairy tales don't escape—whoever has not heard about elves working till their hands bleed just to make the presents in time for Christmas?

That's the thing about jobs: someone has something they are good at, someone else takes that and put it somewhere exploitable in exchange for something nice, and to keep that something nice you have to keep working, because in reality there's just no end in sight to desires.

He found solace in art, then his art found a function in animation, then what?

Being an adult is a soul-crushing journey to knowing that you're better off not wanting things so that your desires won't end up being your collateral and yet desires were the only thing you were taught about while you were growing up.

*

“You should come back more often.”

“What's the matter? Miss my pretty face?”

“I do but that's not it.”

“Then, what?”

“I just need you.”

*

His manager calls him into his office and offers him a permanent employment, while complimenting on his “improved appearance”.

“I just wanted to,” he answers when he's asked about the sudden change.

“It looks amazing on you, and I think you now realise the effect it has on a person, how much it changed how you look to other people and I dare say that you look a lot more confident now—which is the thing that has helped me in my decision to offer you a place in the company.”

It sounds like nothing, but he has been in the company for so long that he understands the implication immediately: only a permanent employee stands a chance of promotion, overseas assignment, medical benefits, other things.

Sometimes you look for reasons to stay as it is and feel the despair upon knowing that there are bigger powers in place playing a role in determining your fate that you have no control over.

Sometimes you wonder where you should float next and then someone drags you into a pond.

He can't wait to tell Donghae.

*

“Hey, you weren't answering my calls, I was thinking maybe you were sleeping? Should I be worried? Since like, you don't exactly need sleep and all. Maybe you were in the shower? And if you are be careful with the hot water, don't turn it on to the maximum temperature, the voltage might be dangerous for you. Speaking of voltages, I've gotten a permanent employment! My salary will be increased in the next paycheck! I should probably take you out somewhere.

By the way, you don't have to cook today, let's have bulgogi tonight?”

*

A few months ago, he discovered magic.

He was drawing, sketching around, wishing that the drawings could be real so that he could someone to share his feelings. His friends asked him to find a woman to marry, but that's not what he wanted. He wasn't looking for someone to fall in love with, just someone to share, someone who's a little bit like him, maybe better. Someone who shares a soul with him, someone who understands him—

Then he drew and drew and then Donghae appeared.

*

He comes back home and finds Donghae lying on the sofa, completely resigned to gravity.

“Hey, what happened?” He says, pushing his hair away from his forehead and feeling relieved that he's still—in a technical term—functioning.

There were tears in his eyes, pupils red and eyelids puffy.

“I don't know, but I think I feel like I can't go on any further.”

Then it hits him—oh my god what have I done?

“I—you don't come home, and I know you don't feel right because I just do, you know, I feel everything that you feel, and then you just keep on doing things that hurt you. You keep working and then you tried to heal yourself, you tried rewarding yourself but I know it's not doing it to you. Then you don't come back often and I don't know—you're not taking care of yourself and you're not feeling ok and you're not—“

“Donghae, stop,” he can't listen anymore, not with the weight finally piling up on him and he's seeing what Donghae really is.

“You're not ok, Hyukjae, I knew for quite some time that it was the reason why I'm here, and I tried, I tried so hard to fix you but you're not fixing yourself, and something good happened to you today, right? But the damage has been done and—Hyukjae, look at me. I'm your soul, this is how much you've damaged yourself—“

He embraces Donghae fiercely. “Stop, stop, I'll fix you—myself, I'm ok now, I will be ok, please come back, please don't go.”

“You're not ok.”

“I know.”

“None of us are.”

*

It's past noon when Donghae wakes him up, with soft whispers of reassurances and tempting touches.

“Time to wake up?” he asks.

“Yes, but there's no food though, we'll need to go have our brunch somewhere.”

He lets Donghae seize him and plants him with quick kisses all over his face.

“I thought we are not in a hurry?”

He pauses for a while, then goes down for an open-mouthed kiss.

“Yea, but with you, I need to spend all the time you have with me very well.”

Donghae's hair is getting long, so he tucks some behind his ear and pinch his earlobe gently.

“We have a lot of time, but you gotta stay with me, ok?”

“Ok.”

“How do you feel today?”

Donghae's smile is the brightest he has ever seen.

“Spectacular.”