The soothing sound of pans clanging in the crisp morning air were what woke Sang-hyuk the next morning, his drowsy mind trying to remember where he was. It was so bright; he had to blink repeatedly before his eyes adjusted, squinting to see the curtains pulled back, the window open and allowing the sweet sound of birds chirping to flutter in. He normally would’ve been confused, wondering who opened the window since it wasn’t allowed, but he was still so sleepy he could only smile sappily at the sight. Everything was warm and sunny; Sang-hyuk pulled the blankets up to his lips and smiled, the foreign, happy feeling creeping along from his chest all the way to the tips of his toes.

Another loud smash of pans broke through his reverie, reminding him what exactly woke him up, and Sang-hyuk scrambled out of bed. His father shouldn’t be back yet, and his mother rarely cooked him anything when he was gone. He was just starting to wonder who was in the kitchen when he skidded to a stop at the edge of the hallway, peeking around the corner to see Hak-yeon hurriedly cleaning up a scattered pile of pots and pans off the floor. Sang-hyuk couldn’t help the small giggle, and Hak-yeon’s head whipped around, his surprise turning to fake annoyance.

“What are you doing, laughing at me? At least come and help, you little brat.”

Sang-hyuk laughed again as he shuffled over to help, easily picking up the rest of the pans to put in the sink. He could hear Hak-yeon muttering and Sang-hyuk couldn’t help himself. “What were you doing anyway? How is it possible to knock everything to the floor?”

“You brat,” Hak-yeon snapped nonthreateningly, his cheeks tinted pink as he lightly knocked Sang-hyuk’s head. “Here I’m trying to be nice and make you a nice, warm breakfast and you tease me like this. I’m hurt.”

“You’re cooking?” Sang-hyuk asked excitedly, lighting up when Hak-yeon smiled down at him.

“Yes, so go sit down while I finish up. Don’t want you to get in the way.” Hak-yeon pinched his cheek before herding him to the table, making sure he sat down before turning back to the stove. Sang-hyuk shamelessly watched Hak-yeon’s back as the other attempted his best at cooking eggs, squeezing his lips together happily as his fingers twisted in his lap. He hoped one day he could have a back like Hak-yeon’s, with shoulders straight and an aura that made it comfortable to lean against. He wanted to be just like Hak-yeon.

He diverted his eyes when Hak-yeon came back to place the finished plates on the table, giggling at the smiley face drawn on his egg with blueberries. Hak-yeon laughed with him. “You have such a cute smile, you should smile all the time.”

“I will,” he promised dismissively, hurriedly picking up one of the face’s eyes and eating it, giggling again at the face Hak-yeon made.

“You little brat, fine, go ahead and eat. Don’t appreciate my wonderful cooking.” Sang-hyuk let him wallow in his self-pity as they fell into a peaceful silence, only the gentle sound of silverware clinking interrupting. Sang-hyuk took a bite and smiled at how terrible it tasted, wondering how Hak-yeon could mess up something as simple as an egg. But then he never enjoyed Hak-yeon’s food for the taste, glancing up to see Hak-yeon smiling at him, and his whole face flushed with delight.

Sang-hyuk hovered by Hak-yeon’s side as the latter washed the dishes, trying his best to help despite Hak-yeon’s insistence not to. He really wished time didn’t move so fast whenever Hak-yeon came over, wished it could stop completely so he never had to worry again. Hak-yeon always left right after breakfast whenever he came over, never daring to stay any later than that, and Sang-hyuk was absolutely not ready for his friend to leave him so soon. He stood by Hak-yeon’s side as the other finished the last of the dishes, and without a word latched his arms around Hak-yeon’s chest.

“Sang-hyuk?” Hak-yeon asked gently, doing his best to pat Sang-hyuk’s back without getting him wet. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t want you to go.” Sang-hyuk’s voice hitched slightly.

Hak-yeon sighed, drying his hands on a nearby towel before hugging him back, kissing the top of his head. “I’m sorry, baby, but I can’t. Who knows when your dad will be home, and I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

“I don’t care.”

“Yes, you do.” Hak-yeon’s voice was soft as he cupped Sang-hyuk’s cheeks, his palms gentle as they ran over Sang-hyuk’s dry skin. “But you know I’m always here. If he doesn’t come home, you can always send me a text. I’m always willing to talk.” Sang-hyuk’s eyes flitted to the small scar above Hak-yeon’s eyebrow, swallowing all the protests he wanted to scream so badly. He knew there were reasons beyond mere concern that pushed Hak-yeon to leave so quickly, and Sang-hyuk had no place to ask any more of him. Not that that still didn’t hurt him.

When Sang-hyuk didn’t answer, Hak-yeon tilted Sang-hyuk’s chin up so he could look him in the eye. “Okay?”

“Okay…”

“That’s my baby.” He ignored Sang-hyuk’s forced protests of how he wasn’t a baby to pull Sang-hyuk’s hands off his sides, pressing them together. “I’ll always be here. And remember, if your father’s friend does anything or anything happens, you let me know right away.” When Sang-hyuk only nodded, staring down at their hands sullenly, Hak-yeon laughed. “Don’t frown, your face will get stuck like that.”

“No it won’t,” he snapped back reflexively, and the two finally relaxed, chuckling. He allowed Hak-yeon to lead him to the front door, watching sadly as the latter slipped on his shoes. Sang-hyuk pressed his cheek against the cool plaster of the wall. “You’ll be okay going home, right?”

“Of course. It’s so great I can drive now. Don’t have to wait for those lazy maids to come get me.” Hak-yeon turned and placed one last kiss on Sang-hyuk’s forehead. Sang-hyuk loved being kissed. He couldn’t remember the last time either of his parents kissed him. He wasn’t even sure they knew how.

It was only once Hak-yeon was gone that Sang-hyuk let his knees finally buckle and allow him to slide to the floor, the closing door behind him speaking as the final goodbye. Now alone, the house felt bigger and colder than ever, the shining sun doing nothing to warm anything. With his mother nonexistent and his father gone, there was nothing to remind him he wasn’t alone. It wasn’t the first time this happened, and it definitely wasn’t the last, but it was a feeling that was only viciously compounded whenever Hak-yeon came over.

When he was finally able to get up, he went to his room and immediately closed the window, stiffly pulling the curtains closed. It was a more familiar setting, seeing the room shaded in a dusky glow with any opening to the outside world hidden. The small patch of grass he rolled in was nothing compared to what was beyond that, and after years of being hidden away was something he couldn’t even imagine. Hak-yeon was his only link to that world, and it was only through him that he dared to let any of it in. Without him, he would have nothing.

His fingers caught on the tattered end of his curtain, a small ray of sunshine peeking through, and Sang-hyuk’s eyes lingered on where his father’s car had been. His father’s friend, the one who stared at him and waved, was the first new person Sang-hyuk had met in years. It wasn’t the fact that the man came to the house that aroused the growing curiosity in him, but was how his father hid him away too, insisting no one go to see him.

Hak-yeon had told him for years that the way his parents treated him was wrong, told him how his being hidden here was bad. A part of Sang-hyuk knew that, especially when seeing how free Hak-yeon was to go wherever he wanted, but he really didn’t know any better. So he had never felt an urge to go beyond what he knew, was okay with where he was. But with this new man, his father’s friend…. A slowly churning feeling in the pit of his stomach began to urge him forward.

What would this man think?

Being kept away like this, was the man like him? Would he stay with them forever, like himself?

He wanted to ask.

To know.

He haltingly left his room and made his way over to his father’s office, pausing at the door, his fingers brushing the doorknob. He had been raised to never enter the room, to stay away and not even think of going near it. Just being this close already filled him with a sense that he was doing something wrong. He wondered briefly if he should just leave the man alone, remembering the way the man ignored him and Hak-yeon when they tried to talk to him yesterday. But then…Sang-hyuk hated being alone, and he couldn’t imagine the man would be perfectly happy that way.

So, worriedly, tentatively, he opened the door.

The man was sitting in the exact same position as yesterday, his back to the door as he stared out the window. He made no indication he heard the door open, not even a twitch in his shoulders when Sang-hyuk knocked on the doorframe. “E-excuse me? A-are you…busy?”

No answer; Sang-hyuk pursed his lips as he very slowly stepped inside, the soft carpet spreading flush against his foot in a kind of warning. The office was the only room with something as luxurious as carpet, despite the many times his father complained about it, and Sang-hyuk felt slightly jealous.

“W-we came yesterday.” He took another step forward, shoving his shaking hands in his pockets. “You made a noise.”

Nothing. Sang-hyuk eventually mustered up enough courage to cross the rest of the room, peeking over the man’s shoulder and his eyes narrowing in confusion. The man’s eyes were open, his gaze vacant as he stared out the window, but it wasn’t that that confused him. No, it was the thick cable plugged into the man’s chest, a chest opened by two little doors that revealed a completely metal casing underneath. Sang-hyuk’s eyes ran down the cable to see it plugged into a little machine, the machine whirring along silently. He frowned at the sight, wondering if there was something wrong with his heart that he had to have a machine plugged into him. It made sense; he’d caught his mother secretly plugging her arm into something similar once, and she’d told him it was because her arm had a problem. He wondered if the man was similar. He felt bad if that was true.

“Hello?” he asked, his frown deepening when the man only continued to stare ahead, as if unable to hear him. “Are you okay?” He looked back at his father’s desk to see if there was anything to help wake the man up—he yelped when his foot caught on the cord, tripping and hearing the distinctive pop of a plug ripping out from the wall right after. He whipped his head around to see the machine shut off, looking up nervously to see the man suddenly blink, shuddering as his eyes flashed awake. He crawled back when the man’s shoulders snapped upward, his joints cracking as his arms and legs choppily moved around.

It was a minute before the man stopped, his hands coming to a rest on his knees and his shoulders settling. He blinked again, eyes looking around as if waking up, eventually noticing Sang-hyuk on the floor. The man’s eyes narrowed, just a slight twitch of his brow.

“I-I’m sorry,” Sang-hyuk stuttered, scrambling to his feet, “I didn’t mean to unplug your machine thing or anything.” The man’s eyes flickered over to whatever it was Sang-hyuk had unplugged, the rest of his body completely still. Sang-hyuk felt a small shudder run through him.

“You do not need to apologize,” the man said quietly, his voice soft despite how sharp his gaze was. “I no longer need it.”

Sang-hyuk watched as the man pulled the cable out of his chest, the small lights that decorated around the hole flashing briefly. He could feel his stomach clench when the man closed the two little doors, hiding the metal behind what looked to be normal human skin. The man ran his fingers down the crease between the doors before looking back up at him, his face still expressionless. “Are you uneased?”

Sang-hyuk immediately shook his head, not wanting to be rude. “N-no. I just…are you okay? Did I…did I hurt you?”

“No. I do not feel pain.” The man paused for a short while, blinking slowly. Sang-hyuk wished the man would smile or something, feeling his skin begin to crawl at the way his gaze seemed to pass right through him. It reminded him too much of his parents, so distracted by their own thoughts they forgot he existed. He hated being reminded, was ready to run away and pretend he never came in here when the man suddenly tilted his head, letting his eyes run down the length of Sang-hyuk’s body, the motion choppy and awkward. Sang-hyuk wondered if it was because the man was stiff from sitting all day.

A barely audible hum rumbled through the man’s lips. “You were the boy in the window.”

It took Sang-hyuk a second to understand, nodding his head shyly. “I…my father doesn’t bring people here.” He swallowed. “A-are…are you his friend?”

“Friend is not the correct term.” The man’s head was still tilted as his hand slowly reached up to take Sang-hyuk’s, his thumb brushing over his fingers. His skin felt strange, slimy, similar to the way sweat would create a thin coat over Sang-hyuk’s skin when it was humid. But it was still morning, no humidity in the cool air, and nothing in the room should be making his hands feel the way they did. “You; you live here?”

Sang-hyuk nodded, unable to say anything and instead stared down at their hands. He noticed the man’s were different colors, his right lighter than his left. Without asking to make sure it was okay, Sang-hyuk took the man’s other hand, imitating him and brushing his fingers in the same way. They felt different, one considerably less slimy and strange feeling than the other. He wondered if the color had anything to do with it. “I live with my parents.”

“Mmm,” the man hummed, seemingly having no issue with Sang-hyuk holding his hands. “Are you not afraid?” Sang-hyuk stopped, finally looking up and feeling his breath catch in his throat at the intense glare the other levelled at him, swallowing when the man brought Sang-hyuk’s hands to his chest, allowing their fingers to trail down the faint crease. Everything was slimy, the feeling lingering on Sang-hyuk’s own skin, goosebumps erupting across his hands and up his arms until his whole body felt cold with a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature. The man’s gaze never lightened. “Does this not bother you?”

“Y-you…you’re scaring me…” Sang-hyuk’s voice trembled, yelping when the man pulled Sang-hyuk’s hands down into his lap, easily catching him when Sang-hyuk fell into his awaiting arms. This was wrong, different; Hak-yeon was the only one who ever really touched him, and even then, it was always gentle, always kind. There was something different behind this man’s touch, something latent waiting to spring as his fingers clasped around Sang-hyuk’s sides, adjusting him so their eyes were level. Sang-hyuk’s breath stopped.

“What scares you? This?” He placed Sang-hyuk’s fingers against his chest, purposefully sticking them in between the fleshy doors.

Sang-hyuk curled his fingers away, shaking his head. “N-no.”

“This, then?” He trailed his palm across Sang-hyuk’s cheek, as if to wipe the slime on him.

Sang-hyuk shook his head again, wishing he could speak.

“Then what?”

“Y-your…hands.” The man’s brow furrowed again as his hands settled on Sang-hyuk’s sides, and Sang-hyuk took the opportunity to pull his hands away. He hoped the man wouldn’t make him touch him like that again.

“What about them?”

Sang-hyuk struggled with what to say, extremely aware of the way the man’s hands tightened every second he stayed silent. It was so different, so unlike what he knew and was used to—he shook his head again, squeezing his eyes shut. “It hurts.”

“Hurts?” The man’s hands abruptly disappeared, and Sang-hyuk snapped his eyes open to see the other pulling away, almost as if afraid to touch him. He must have looked as confused as he felt, the man bowing his head. “I did not mean to hurt you. I am sorry.”

“N-no, that’s not…” Sang-hyuk groaned as the words he wanted to say refused to come out, his brain a terribly jumbled mess. “I didn’t…no, it’s not you. I just…” The man waited patiently for Sang-hyuk to finish. “I’m not used to touch. Yours hurts.”

“I see. Then, does this scare you?” The man’s hand was back on Sang-hyuk’s face, but the touch was so light he could barely feel it. Sang-hyuk stayed perfectly still as he watched the man trace his nose and flick at his bottom lip, eventually holding his chin. It was so gentle, such a stark difference from before, that Sang-hyuk didn’t know what to say. The man hummed. “If I touched like that, does it hurt?”

“No…”

“I see.”

The man adjusted Sang-hyuk to sit more comfortably on his lap, his hands resting on the side of Sang-hyuk’s thighs, and Sang-hyuk felt his face flush. He had imagined once doing this very same thing with Hak-yeon, but had always been too afraid to try and ask. To suddenly be doing it with a stranger filled him with burning embarrassment.

Wanting to hurry and distract himself from his quickly swirling thoughts, he asked, “Does…does my father keep you in here?”

“Yes.”

“Does he let you go out at all?”

“No.”

“Not even to eat? I…I’ve never seen you eat anything.”

“No.”

“Then…aren’t you hungry? Or lonely?”

“No. I do not have the need like you do.”  The man’s voice was serious, his gaze unwavering, but Sang-hyuk was sure he could hear a break in his voice. There had to be; he could not believe there was someone who could sit in this room and not be lonely, to have no problem never leaving or eating or seeing another human being. There just couldn’t…because if there was, if it was really that simple, then what did that make himself?

“You don’t have to lie,” Sang-hyuk whispered slowly, hesitantly reaching out and holding the man’s slimy hand again. “It’s okay to say it…that you’re lonely.”

Sang-hyuk watched the man’s hand shift to take his instead, his touch soft. “Are you lonely?”

Sang-hyuk’s responding nod was so small, he wasn’t even sure the man could see it. “My father keeps me here…to be safe.” He shivered despite not being cold at all. “Is he…is that why he’s keeping you here too?”

“No. My safety has none of his concern.”

“Then why?”

“For something you do not understand.”

Sang-hyuk snorted, having heard that line from his father so many times it actually made him laugh. “Of course. Everything’s for work.” Sang-hyuk attempted to get up, annoyed, when the man’s hold suddenly tightened, his fingers digging into Sang-hyuk’s thighs to keep him still. He winced openly, looking up to see the man glaring again, his stiff posture telling to how dangerous the situation had become, the blistering wounds forming on his legs screaming at him to run away. He tried to push off the man’s chest to get away, crying out when nails started to dig deeper. “Stop! That hurts, let go!”

“What is your name?” Sang-hyuk barely heard the question, slapping at the man’s hands to try and loosen his grip. It did nothing. “Your name, what is it?”

“S-Sang-hyuk!” he finally whimpered, promptly tumbling to the floor when the man immediately let go. Nothing on the man’s face gave away what he was thinking, Sang-hyuk looking up only to meet unsympathetic eyes. His legs still burned, and his heart was hammering against his chest; he crawled back until his back hit the wall, unable to gather any strength to stand up. Staring at this man, he realized there was a reason for his father’s rule, to never let anyone in.

“Sang-hyuk.” The man’s eyes flashed, a spark of blue that Sang-hyuk was convinced he imagined through the pain. “Han Sang-hyuk.”

“Y-yes.” He turned his attention down to his legs when the man said nothing in return, biting down on his lip when even a mere brush against the fabric of pants sent waves of pain through him. He wasn’t sure if the man managed to break skin or not, everything too numb and painful to figure out now, but he knew it would continue to burn for hours.

It was some time before he was able to roll over on his knees, attempting to stand up when a hand landed carefully on his arm, helping him. Sang-hyuk flinched away, nearly falling over again to see the man standing next to him, extremely tall and imposing as he stared fiercely. His reaction didn’t seem to faze the man at all, continuing to follow him and pull him to his feet.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, refusing to look anywhere but the floor as the man hovered a little too closely.

“You are in pain.” Sang-hyuk looked up to see the man staring down at his legs, nothing on his face giving anything to the concern supposedly in his voice.

“Yes.”

“I did it to you.”

“…yes.” The man leaned forward slightly, his back cracking as he did so, to finger Sang-hyuk’s thigh, his touch now as light as before. It didn’t do much when it still caused his legs to burn, Sang-hyuk at a point where his confusion was beyond comprehension, so he only stood still and let the man do what he wanted. There was probably a better chance he wouldn’t end up hurting him if he just stayed still. The man’s small frown deepened.

“I am sorry,” he said as he pulled away, his back cracking again as he stood straight, his hands falling carefully behind him. Neither of them moved for a long while, the warming summer air filtering through the small cracks between the curtains, each passing second filling with an overwhelmingly oppressive silence. Hundreds of thousands of thoughts swirled through Sang-hyuk’s head, trying to keep himself level by staring at the small ray of light that spilled out across the floor, the smell of dry summer heat mixed with plaster familiar and comforting.

Every second he stared at the man’s uncovered chest, eyes caught on the faint crease of the flesh-covered doors, he wondered if had made the right choice, coming in here. No one could come in, no one could go out; that had been his father’s rule that until now Sang-hyuk had never dared to disobey, save for Hak-yeon. While he had grown up severely sheltered, he knew what was right and what was wrong, knew that the way this man moved and behaved was wrong. This man, who would grab and hurt him and make him touch him strangely; he was everything his father warned him about rolled into one.

And yet…

…watching this same man apologize softly, acting almost shy, reminded him so much of himself he wasn’t able to immediately shut himself away. He seemed so much like himself, so awkward with words and apprehensive around any touch that went beyond intimacy—he ripped himself away from the bubble they had formed together, stumbling towards the door. His legs burned with each step and his heart hammered dangerously in his ears, but he didn’t pay them any attention.

Was this what he would have been like, if he hadn’t had Hak-yeon to help him?

Would he have been that rough; that disregarding?

He didn’t want to think about it.

It was a mistake coming in here, curiosity be damned. There had been a reason his father told him not to come in, and he now was paying the price for doing so anyway.

“Will you come again?” the man’s soft voice murmured, the question stopping Sang-hyuk briefly at the door, a hand catching him on the doorframe.

He never answered, the click of the door shutting behind him slicing coldly through the air.

“So, he didn’t come home?” Hak-yeon’s voice asked softly, the sound distorted through the small speakers of Sang-hyuk’s phone. Sang-hyuk hummed as he laid his head down on his folded arms, his fingers playing with the corner of his textbook. His father hadn’t come home that night, and while that usually wasn’t enough reason to muster the courage to call Hak-yeon, he felt he needed to hear the familiar voice, feel something comforting after today. His legs still burned when he moved them wrong, and shivers ran through him when he thought of that man’s heavy eyes; he wished Hak-yeon could be here right now, kissing away his pain and making him feel safe and warm.

“You know,” Hak-yeon continued patiently, talking enough for the both of them, “you’ve gotten so big. My baby is growing up.”

“I’m not a baby,” he grumbled, frowning playfully when Hak-yeon laughed.

“You’ll always be my baby, whether you like it or not.” He could hear the sound of something clinking on the other end, no doubt the sound of Hak-yeon trying to cook himself something. He wondered why Hak-yeon’s family employed maids if they were never there, but then Hak-yeon hated them so it probably made sense. After a couple minutes, Hak-yeon’s voice came through again. “What are you doing right now, anyway?”

“Just doing my homework,” he said, grabbing his pencil and poking disinterestedly at the paper in front of him. He could hear Hak-yeon make a disapproving sound on the other end, and sighed softly.

Hak-yeon never cared for the way Sang-hyuk’s father taught him, keeping him from public schools and insisting on homeschooling him…which was really Sang-hyuk just self-teaching himself while his father worked away in his office. Hak-yeon didn’t go to school either, but he at least had a tutor that came every weekday to teach him. Sang-hyuk didn’t think anything of it, but it upset Hak-yeon every time he mentioned it.

“You don’t have to do that stuff every day, Sang-hyuk.”

“I know, but I like going ahead. It makes him happy.”

“You don’t have to always worry about making others happy. Your happiness should come first.” At the word happiness, Hak-yeon’s face was the first thing Sang-hyuk thought of, though he quickly banished that to the depths of his heart. No matter what he wanted, he and Hak-yeon weren’t allowed to be happy together, to even be together, so he erased the thought altogether. He just shook his head, disregarding that Hak-yeon couldn’t see it.

“My happiness doesn’t matter. I…I want him to see.”

“Don’t think like that. Remember, you deserve happiness too, even in that horrible place you call home. Sang-hyuk-”

“No. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

Sang-hyuk sat straight in his seat as he pushed the phone to the other end of his desk, pulling his textbook closer and focusing all his attention on the jumbled words on the page. He could vaguely hear Hak-yeon’s hurried apologies but did his best to ignore them, reading and rereading the technical terms of computer programming his father was determined to teach him. While he wasn’t good at it and never progressed as fast as his father would like, he wanted to do better. He wanted to hear his father’s praises, see his father smile down at him while patting his shoulder like he used to.

That would bring him happiness.

Hak-yeon didn’t understand, refused to listen when Sang-hyuk tried to explain. He was so caught up in how bad Sang-hyuk’s father treated him that he didn’t pay attention to how much Sang-hyuk wanted his father’s affection.

It was some time before he pulled himself away to see his phone screen still on, Hak-yeon’s name still shining brightly. Sang-hyuk felt his stomach clench at the sight, biting his lip as he silently brought the phone back to his side. He leaned his head against the cool surface of his desk, the speaker only inches from his lips.

“…Hak-yeon?”

It was silent for a minute, and Sang-hyuk wondered worriedly if Hak-yeon gave up waiting and left. But like always, Hak-yeon crushed those terrible thoughts when he responded gently, “I’m here.”

“I’m sorry.”

He could hear Hak-yeon sigh. “It’s not your fault, I shouldn’t have pushed you. Are you okay?”

“Yeah…” He knew Hak-yeon was waiting for more, but Sang-hyuk didn’t know what else to say. He could barely understand himself half the time; how could he even begin to explain it to someone else?  

“Okay. I trust you. In the end, don’t listen to anyone else, even me. Do whatever makes you happy, okay, baby?” When Sang-hyuk gave a small grunt, not trusting himself to say anything without crying, Hak-yeon continued. “It’s getting late, you should go to bed soon. Don’t stay up too late, okay?”

“Okay,” he promised, his mood falling considerably when he heard the following click of Hak-yeon hanging up. He usually didn’t go to bed so early, the sun having barely set and the glow of his desk lamp barely adding anything to the dimly lit room. But he still felt bad for ignoring Hak-yeon all that time, not to mention everything else that happened earlier, and felt that just going to bed would help him forget everything.

He hesitated halfway through changing to his pajamas, a small gasp of surprise escaping his lips at the sight of the large, hand-shaped bruises that decorated his upper thighs. The fingertips were darker than the rest, small dents from the man’s nails embedded into his skin. Sang-hyuk hissed when he attempted even a slight poke at it, rivets of pain rushing through him. They were not alone, however, large, blotting bruises decorating his ribcage and around his stomach. They stood out starkly against Sang-hyuk’s pale skin, almost as if daring him to stare, and he hurriedly threw his clothes on, not wanting to see them any longer.

He knew he shouldn’t go back, and hoped his father returned in the morning.

Because when he remembers the hope in the other's voice, and thinks about him being lonely and hungry, regardless if he pretends or not, Sang-hyuk isn't sure he'd be able to listen to his mind when his soul is the one searching.