A/N: Skip to the line after 'chapter 12' if you do not want spoiler. I do not wish to trigger anyone  so I'm putting this warning right here: Suicidal thoughts.

Chapter 12

The sun poured in as night turned to day and Hyukjae had stayed awake all through it, his mind assaulted with memory after memory. He related everything together each time a new image passed by, and it was far from easy. Each memory brought a different pain, an intensity rising to the point where he almost whimpered, but, each time he swallowed them down. He connected the present and the past, all the things that went by for the past month and not just mentally. To say the emotions spilling from each connection as memories flitted at the forefront of his mind was overwhelming would be an understatement as Hyukjae felt nearly suffocated, drowning in them.

The anger came back, the betrayal gnawed at his heart, and the conflicting emotions made him felt raw; all the while, Donghae was still in his arms, his head on Hyukjae’s shoulder as he slept, ignorant about the immense pain yet Hyukjae was only strong enough to stay awake through it all because he was there. He wondered how the man could be an anchor, a dose of anaesthetic to the mind assault and a drag to reality when all his recently returned memories told him was the man had caused him a great amount of pain.

Hyukjae remembered them all; the drunken night on their monthsary, the girl, how crushed his heart was when he came home that night with such high hopes, thinking that they were getting somewhere, that he had a chance to at least live in harmony with his husband. He could almost smell the freshness of the flowers he had bought for that night, how vibrant and lively they were. How his hopes were brutally stomped down with what he had come home to. That morning after when he swept the drying petals that had fallen as he threw the bouquet to the far side of the room; he remembered how his heart turned just as dry.

Hyukjae extracted himself from Donghae, still willing enough to gently place the man’s head on the cushion as he got up, mindful not to jostle him. He stood watching for a moment, at the ruffled hair, the dark eye bags and almost hollowed cheeks, the clear sign of exhaustion, the dried tear tracks glistening on them. in a long breath and turning away, one hand on his waist and the other covering his eyes, a tear finally cascaded down his face, his lips twisted in a half-smile and half-pain. Hyukjae wanted to laugh, but they came out as sobs instead as he strode to the kitchen; despite everything, his first thought when he looked at Donghae’s condition was to make a soup for him. He could not believe how pathetic he was, how much he still care – still love – that man sleeping on his white sofa, after he shredded Hyukjae’s heart.

He made the soup, careful not to let his tears dripped into the pot because it would ruin the taste, he told himself. Methodically, he cooked, he chopped, he washed, he blended, and he stirred. It was only because he was a professional that he was able to make a more than decent soup for hangover without thoroughly paying attention, and it was only instinct that he did not hurt himself.

What was he going to do now? How would he act? Could he play this dance and pretend everything was just like yesterday? For whose sake would he do that? Him – because, truth was, Hyukjae still wanted to cling to the la-la-land he had been living this past month – or Donghae – who clearly was not planning on spilling his guilt last night?

And suddenly the thought boiled Hyukjae over, like the soup simmering in the pot. If he was not drunk, there was a fat chance that Hyukjae would never have known, would never have remembered. How long was Donghae planning on keeping everything from him? And for whose sake was he keeping those a secret? Hyukjae saw red when he realized the one most benefited from the action was not them or him, but Donghae himself.

Donghae had lied to rid himself off his guilt, not to make things better. There was nothing that was as plausible as that conclusion. The tears stopped flowing, but still burning his eyes and Hyukjae felt himself tremble with fume.

All motions were halted when a pair of arms winded around Hyukjae’s waist and a head rested atop his shoulder – the shoulder that was still aching after cradling that very same head for an entire night. But, it was his heart that ached the most from all of it, from the contact, from the fact that he liked Donghae’s weight on top of him.

“Get off me.”

It was cold; his voice did not betray his whirlwind of emotions, the storm raging in him. It was soulless, nothing but words leaving him. He felt the arms loosened around him and the head was lifted, and Hyukjae wanted to be mad at himself for missing the warmth.

“Huh?” he heard the clear confusion in that one breath, mingled with the alcohol from last night, and Hyukjae pushed those arms off him completely, turning off the stove. He walked away, not even sparing a glance for the man – he just could not think of him as his husband right now, okay? He could not.

“I-I said something last night, did I?” Donghae sounded uncertain and it stopped Hyukjae’s hurried steps. But, Hyukjae could not look at him, not right now, not when he was fuming, not when Donghae looked as if he needed him. “I’m sorry, you weren’t supposed to be home before me, you weren’t supposed to know. I’m sorry.” It was said in a quiet voice, Donghae sounded so vulnerable, but Hyukjae had stopped paying attention to details. He only heard those words being said, only interpreted that Donghae still wanted to continue the lie for as long as he could.

He turned around, his red eyes glistening with unshed tears that he fought harder to keep at bay when he saw them reflected in Donghae’s eyes, “You lied,” he said through gritted teeth, “For how long are you planning to do that? For how long are you planning to keep things from me? When are you going to admit that all you did was just an act?”

Donghae’s eyes widened, perhaps he had not expected Hyukjae to know that much. It did not matter because Hyukjae knew everything that he was supposed to know, minor details were not important. “I wasn’t acting.”

Hyukjae dismissed the heavy feelings behind Donghae’s voice, snorting, “Really? So, what were you doing? Playing good husband with me?”

Clamping his dried lips together, Donghae stared at him with his brows furrowed and eyes still shone bright enough to blind, “You really remember everything? Everything?”

Smirking, “I remember all the things you don’t want me to remember, yes. I remember you cheating on me, I remember you doing despicable things right here in my house. I know how you broke our truce just like that, disregarding everything that we had. What was her name again? Shijin? Sujin? Whatever. Well played, Donghae,” Hyukjae resisted the urge to give a mocking clap.

“Hyukjae, I’m sorry. I really am. I didn’t mean to –”

“You were drunk, yes, I know. Just like last night. You hurt me again last night with you being drunk and all, but at least you hurt me with the truth and now you can stop deceiving me. You can stop pretending, you can quit your acting. It must be tiring, right?” Hyukjae tilted his head and looked right into the other’s eyes, jutting his lips out in a mock pout.

Donghae was heaving slightly, judging by the movement of his chest. Hyukjae swallowed inaudibly, a speckle of fear that he might have caused a panic attack. But, Donghae remained fine and Hyukjae forcefully stunted the remorse building up.

“I deserve that, I know. You can say anything you want, you can hit me. I deserve everything you want to dish out at me. I hurt you, I know,” the tears leaked from Donghae’s eyes, yet, he ignored them, his eyes never leaving Hyukjae’s, “I’m sorry, I –”

“You don’t get to play victim here,” Hyukjae cut him off. His expression grew serious, his lips forming a thin line as all traces of mock left him, “You don’t get to make me the bad guy, make me feel bad. The facts remain, that you betrayed me, that you lied to me, and that you took advantage of me. You think with you treating me nicely and your entire fault will just be forgiven? That with you fake loving me, I will thank you? You hurt me. That’s the truth, that’s the reality, that’s the thing you cannot fix with a few ‘I love you’s.”

“But, what do you think I should have done, then?” Donghae threw at him, “What would have been the right thing to do if you were in my shoe? I did not treat you nice because I wanted to redeem myself, I know I passed that point and there was no returning. I treated you that way because that’s how you deserve to be taken care of, that even if you hate me, but until that memory returns to you, you should only know love because I caused you so much pain. The second chance, you losing your memory, was not for me. The second chance was for you to at least have a memory of how it would feel to be loved by the one you love. It’s not about me, it’s not for me.” Donghae took a step closer, seemingly wary as his hand d for the back of a chair to steady himself on, yet, his words were steady as he said, “I wasn’t acting. I just love you.”

Hyukjae felt himself trembling, and he gritted his teeth until it hurt. No matter how hard he tried he could not stop the single tear running down his face, “I don’t believe you,” he said, and a bitter chuckle left him, “You are deceitful, right from the start. And, I hate liars. I don’t think I can look at you much longer, not without pain at least. You, knowing that I love you, think that loving me back will help lessen the blow, the pain. It doesn’t. I will just hate you if I have to keep on looking at you every other day. So, this is for both of us, alright? It’s good for us,” he stomped away and up the stairs.

Not bothering to wipe the tears now flooded out from the banks, Hyukjae practically ran and threw the door to their room – his room – opened only to stumble back and clamped his eyes shut, his hands over his ears and a pain-filled cry left him. The image of that night had assaulted his vision as he took one look at the bed and it all felt too much, and it caused him to fell as if something was crawling under his skin. He braced himself against the wall, fighting to stay on his feet, turning away from the door. He did not hear the footsteps, someone running up the stairs, but he did hear the room’s door being shut and he opened his eyes then.

Donghae stood in front of him, his hand hovering near Hyukjae’s shoulder. When Hyukjae cowered away, he clenched his hand into a fist before dropping them. His face was blotchy, red-rimmed eyes seemed so tired, and his lips were chapped.

Hyukjae leaned his back against the wall, shut his eyes and just try to breathe calmly. He felt his will dissipated, his anger morphed into the heartbreak he tried to conceal. With no more strength to shout, he said quietly, “I’m sorry, Donghae. But, you have to go. I can’t even enter this room without being reminded of what had happened. Having you here…”

Hyukjae, as he stared back at the other, could see the cracking heart and he wanted to smile, wanted so badly to just let go, forgive, forget and bask in the fact that he could so very clearly see how sincere Donghae’s love was for him, that his husband really did love him back, how deep did not matter. But, they were like an old and worn notebook filled with scribbles. There were too many pains between them, and they were on borrowed time before someone pressed too hard and finally ripped them.

“I’ll go.”

Donghae passed him and entered the room, shutting the door as soon as he slipped in. Just like that, they were torn apart, broke into two, even halves with jagged edges. A wavering breath left between Hyukjae’s lips.

It was some time before the door opened again, the gap too small and only just enough for Donghae to slip out for Hyukjae to see anything. A bag was dropped next to him, another one gripped tight in Donghae’s hand.

“Your clothes,” Donghae cleared his throat, sniffing softly, “I thought maybe… you don’t have to go in to get them…” he mumbled out to explain, his free hand tugging at his reddening ear, “I…”

“Eat the soup.”

“What?”

“On the stove. Eat it.”

Once he got a glance of a nodding, Hyukjae turned away. This time, he did hear the footsteps, descending down the stairs. They were heavy; each thud lingered on until another one replaced its predecessor. Hyukjae bit his lip, mentally berating himself not to look. He wondered; he had just found the love he had been longing for, the fantasy turned reality, yet there he was, letting the diminishing sound of leaving steps continue to break his heart. Thus, was this all that he deserved? A jagged half-piece of a heart, yet still full of love?

He went to work, not taking his car out of sheer familiarity of having someone driving him – if it was because Donghae had advised him not to, no one had to know that – and he let the hours turned to day after day.

***

The sound of pencil against a paper filled the space. Crumpled papers littered the room, some thrown to the wall while others were nonchalantly casted aside, still, hunched over his work table, Donghae did not stop drawing, sketching whatever came to mind. Everything was in a mess, but at least it made him felt belong.

This, his personal drawing room back at his gallery, was his refuge; it had seen much more of him than any living person had, and it was a place that comforted him when no one else could. Painting might be his front line of work at his gallery, but he had started with a simple liking to drawing at the young age of eight. The husk-husk sound made by each of pencil lulled him into a state of calm, ignoring the rest of the world. He was shading a petal, giving the drawing a sense of texture and perspective.

This was how his days went by before, monotonously. He would be in this room, doing what he was familiar with, drawing to his heart contents, ignoring the rest of the world because his world was right there, on pieces paper and canvases left to dry with no promise that they would ever be seen by those outside of that room. Donghae was satisfied – he would not say happy – enough living the way he did.

Not now, though.

He did not have expectations before, did not have any anticipation of how the day was going to be tomorrow. It was hard, to revert to that sense of thinking after three months of living in a better place, of having a place he very lovingly not just felt belong but home.

That was why his mind was on a set track of drawing dried flowers, one after another. They vary by colours and backgrounds, but they all meant one thing; regretting only once it was all too late. The petals dropped, blown by wind, the colour faded, the leaves turned browed. All of them happened due to the passing of time. They were perfect as the symbolism of Donghae’s recurring thoughts.

At the end of the day, he left the pencils and papers strewn everywhere and walked out of the room, locked the gallery after he exited it for the day. Then, he headed home. Not his house, no longer, just a place where he needed to go back to every day when they sky turned dusky.

Parking his car near the end of the road, he walked to Hyukjae’s house – it hurt him to think in such a way – and entered, going up the steps half-way before sitting himself down and leaning against one of the white pillars.

Friday was when he had left the house, and it was Monday the first time he returned there, unable to stay away much longer. He would stay for an unscheduled amount of time, sometimes longer, sometimes it was too much for him to be staring at a door shut firmed between him and a few love memories. He would leave before Hyukjae got home every night, except for Tuesday. Donghae came earlier and stayed longer on Tuesday. Never did he noticed or felt a set of eyes trained on him, watching him. He sat there, going through the net or sketching in an app, doing things he could nonchalantly do while being at the place that made him feel at ease. It was sad, calling it his home yet never going in.

Despite all of his coping mechanism, given that they were unhealthy, the feelings grated at him day after day. His hands were busy, his back supported by the pillar and his body posture relaxed. Inside, he was a time-bomb meant to destruct his own self.

Saturday, he went to meet his best friend that had been there longer than anyone – anyone alive, at least – knew.

One shot, two shot, another, another, and another…

In his hazy mind, as he walked out of the bar, Donghae giggled as his own feet seemed to have auto-programmed themselves to take him home. Step, step, step, up one, up two, and he sat down heavily, back to resting against the pillar, his eyes closed.

“Hyukjae!” he shouted to the sky, filled with anguish and followed by an out-of-place giggle, never expecting an answer.

Yet, he got one, still.

“Yes?”

It was soft, and there was a bit of hesitation if Donghae was coherent enough to notice. Alas, his eyes shot opened and he found himself staring at the face he had longed to see. Grinning, his face belying the reason he was drunk, Donghae called out again, “Hyukjae.”

***

For his part, Hyukjae was not sure why he had answered, what compelled him to pronounce his presence, after he had deliberately tried to hide himself as he watched after the man right there on his steps. Getting off the taxi a few gates before his house, Hyukjae was not expecting to see Donghae there tonight. He was far from ignorant about the man’s timely night-venture to his house this past week, having witnessed him sitting there last Tuesday. Not at all agreeing to his own action, Hyukjae had tried to get back early each night, if only to just watch Donghae took his leave. But, the restaurant was booked to the fullest on this weekend night, causing him to stay for longer than he would have liked.

Thus, finding Donghae still there when Hyukjae returned an hour later than he usually would was a tad unexpected. Hyukjae wanted to blame his blurted-out on the fact that he was tired, but, he was only caught off guard while sneaking behind his car, trying to look at Donghae. Nobody needed to know that and what done was done.

“Are you drunk?” Hyukjae had caught the waft of alcohol once he stepped closer. With two unpleasant memories where drunkenness was involved, Hyukjae could only contrast the grin on Donghae’s face.

Giggling before halting himself and mocked a serious pout, showcasing disappointment, the other said, “Yes,” before bursting out in another fit of grinning mess. He stood up, using the pillar as leverage. He stumbled down the steps and Hyukjae stepped forward in time to let Donghae clutched him. He rested his head on Hyukjae’s shoulder for a moment, his chuckles slowed down and eventually turned into sobs.

Biting the inside of his cheeks, Hyukjae held himself back from wrapping his arms around the man, “I hate it,” his words came out softer than he had wish.

“What?” Donghae pulled away just enough to look him in the eye. B with tears, he perfected the look of pure confusion with his brows scrunched up and his nose red, his hands still gripped the sleeves of Hyukjae’s shirt tight.

“You… drinking.”

And then it was gone, the innocent, and Donghae pushed himself apart from Hyukjae, his hands balled into fists and Hyukjae could see, feel it, how his nails were digging into his palms and leaving behind crescent indentations. “You don’t get it.”

It was Hyukjae’s turned to be confused, “What?”

“It was this or…You don’t get it!” Donghae was screaming, his voice cracking, “I could drown myself with this, like he did… Or I could end it all… like he did,” it was getting harder to hear him as his words turned to whispering and breaths.

Hyukjae was growing steadily concerned. Despite it seemingly incoherent, he could string up those words and they created a scenario he did not wish to venture in, “Donghae –”

“You just hate me, and leave me… like he did,” Donghae said, all emotions fleeting away from his face as his shoulders sagged – resigned. He slipped passed Hyukjae, not running, but with careless yet calm steps. Further and further he went and Hyukjae was just frozen until there was no longer any sound accompanying him except for his own gradually getting ragged breathing.

He did not know how long had passed – all he knew was his heart was beating so erratically that the edges of his eyes were growing black, Donghae’s words ringing in his head. It brought horror to the forefront of his mind.

End it?

Suddenly, Hyukjae was back sitting on the boulevard next to a boy with eyes so sad, he tugged Hyukjae’s heart and made it his. He saw the expressive eyes, the one filled with longing staring at him in desperation of something to hold on to, to grasp on. He blinked.

Then, he was running. With all he could, he ran. No. No no no. He looked passed every car, looked behind anything, just hoping he would find the familiar face, the same eyes he felt for. He did not know how he in the end had stopped for a short breath right in front of the gate of a park where Donghae was. Hyukjae could only put it on fate.

Sat on the swing, his head resting on the chain while he rocked himself, Hyukjae saw that boy he fell for, completed with the exact, dull eyes and void of any life. His heart did not stop thumping harshly against his ribcage as he approached slowly, not even when he had crouched down in front of the swing.

Hyukjae watched him, all quiet and just waiting. It was a false sense of tranquillity with how slow and graceful every movement was, the constant squeak of the swing and the midnight air grazing his cheeks. But, inside, it was a hurricane. The quiet grated his fear, the blankness of Donghae’s eyes suffocated his thoughts, and the wind chilling his entire spine. Say something…

“He was my brother,” Hyukjae almost lost his balance when Donghae’s whisper reached his ears, startled by the abruptness, “He was the one who had encourage me to keep drawing, saying my works were good and I would definitely one day become famous for them. He was the only one,” the corner of his lips was stretched up slightly, the fondness as clear as crystal, “It was just as much his wish as it was mine to open the gallery, he wanted me to pursue what I liked, whatever I wanted to be. He would be there, he promised,” then the smile faltered, his voice just slightly above a breath.

“Then… then…”

Hyukjae grasped Donghae’s hand, sitting down crossed-leg in front of the halted swing. He settled both their hands on Donghae’s lap, staring up and silently urging on. When he felt his hand being gripped, Hyukjae held back just as tight.

“He got into drinking after his girlfriend died in a hiking incident. He stayed in his room all alone with only bottles as his company. The few times when he wasn’t drinking and came out of his room, he paid no mind to me. But, you see,” Donghae grinned, staring intently at Hyukjae, willing him to understand like a kid asking for attention, only there were tears just waiting to fall in his eyes, “When I came in to sit with him during all those time he was drunk, he would smile at me. I showed him my drawings and he would always have a compliment ready for them, even if he was just saying the same thing over and over again. He bathed himself with those bitter, smelly, disgusting brown liquid, he smiled at me and promised he would be there to see me be successful. He promised…” his voice broke, “Then, one night, I came in and he… he broke his promise. He left me. He was twenty-three and I was thirteen. There was nothing but a short note. He said sorry and he wished me good luck with a last compliment. But, I didn’t want his sorry; I wanted to go with him. No one was like him, no one complimented me, and no one encourage me. I needed him.”

Hyukjae scooted closer, not minding the dirt. He placed his other hand on Donghae’s knee, and he was not sure if he was the one comforting or the one being comforted and anchored. His heart was so abused, beaten, cracked, because he did not see a man in front of him, only a hurt child he had love.

“Nearly a year and one day I just wanted to try following him. I had my sketch book and my pencil, and I was ready to cross this road. I would show him all my drawings again when I see him. As a last gift, I sat down on the side road and sketched the town. Then… right when I was just about done, I heard a compliment. This someone wanted me to draw him – can you imagine that? Right when I was about to go, something I needed was given to me,” the grinned on Donghae’s face was so heart-shattering Hyukjae could only smile and nod, “That someone reminded me of what my brother said, that I would be famous. I wanted to be that, to be famous, because he said I could.”

The tears finally rained down his face, a constant flow of tear right after another, “It was you. You gave me what I needed. Hyukjae, it was you.”

Hyukjae nodded again and again, and when Donghae dropped down onto his lap and hung tight by his neck, he was still nodding, wrapping his arms and not wanting to let go. He was not sure whether he was trying to hold Donghae together or if his husband was completing his painful, jagged half-piece of a heart.

Whoop! Definitely been a long time since my last update... Sorry. Caught with stuff. Even while trying to finish this chapter. I started typing this update since my birthday (two weeks ago [and I'm officially 17 and can get a drivers license] because I wanted to as a gift to myself) but there were so many things hindering it. Well, I have tissues ready and cookies as an apology. A little bit about this chapter, this is Donghae's background story. Now you know, now you know... I hope I handled their emotions well. And, we are reaching the in next chapter so I will say there is about 2-3 chapters to go from here. Okay, until next time, hopefully that won't be too long. I do have a trial exam coming up that will only finish on the 2nd of September, though. Anyway, tissues and cookies in the comment box below and I miss all of you! Really, I do. I miss you, I miss this story, I miss making all of you frustrated and cry. Life has just been crazy.

Trivia: The title of this chapter is a lyric from Growing Pains. /winks/