He dreams of dense forests and moonlit skies, cold hands and hot breaths. Panting, grappling, desperate. A bright star in the distance, flashing red—just out of reach. He dreams of whispers and a broken tune...
lay the——the—
—moon—the—
—eye, ——light
and—close the—— 

 

Lee Sungjong first meets Kim Myungsoo in Yongin. It’s on the second day of his annual summer visits from Gwangju, one week after the first term of his fifth year ended, and five weeks before his twelfth birthday.

It was hot, humid, and hazy, and Sunkyu had asked to go to go to the amusement park.

“Call up Myungsoo-yah and ask if he wants to join you all,” Mrs. Lee suggests.  

Mr. Lee advises against it but she already had Daeyeol and Sungyeol dressed and was shoving 100,000 won of pocket money into Sungjong’s hands.

“Who?” Sunkyu questions.

Kim Myungsoo is a boy from Seoul with a slouch, sharp nose, and a perpetual pout of an expression, as if he’s trying to make out the details of something in the distance. Wearing a black shirt and black shorts, he brings along a younger boy, almost identical save for a few coarser features. The younger is called Kim Moonsoo.

They are introduced as cousins. Distant. A direct line of relation can’t be drawn.

“I think they’re from Great Grandpa’s half-sister’s family,” Sungyeol, an actual cousin, says.

Sungjong accepts this. He has many cousins in the greater Seoul area – some he’s met, some he hasn’t – and it no longer comes as a surprise when a new name pops into a conversation between him and his uncle. Only his father had decided to move their faction of the Lee clan to southwestern remotes of the country (which Sungjong never quite understands). He and Sunkyu are still shipped to live with Sungyeol and his family every summer and winter holiday while their whole family will make the two hour train ride every chuseok holiday. Why not just move back?

“We’re in the same class,” Sungyeol tries to further explain.

The first thing Sungjong notices about Kim Myungsoo is his hair. Thick and curly, defying gravity from atop his head. The second thing he notices is the entirely black attire. In the sweltering heat, Sungjong wants to question the choice but instead decides on a polite smile.

“Nice to meet you, hyung.”

Myungsoo nods and gives a shy smile. It isn’t impolite, but Sungjong comes to his third conclusion: Kim Myungsoo is quiet.

Moonsoo, on the other hand, is much warmer and pulls Sungjong and Daeyeol by the arms to go on the first ride he sees. Sungjong figures it must be a comfort of age thing. So when Sungjong turns to call for Sunkyu to keep up, he isn’t the slightest bit surprised to see Sungyeol with his arm slung around Myungsoo, the latter smiling with a familiar ease. Laughing and talking with one another, they head off in another direction of the crowd.

And that’s how most of the day is spent. Moonsoo dragging Daeyeol and Sungjong every-which-way with little Sunkyu trying to follow close behind. Sungyeol and Myungsoo have escaped to somewhere on their own.

Sunkyu is not allowed on most rides. Though he pouts and complains, nothing changes the fact that they wait in line for the better half of an hour just to find that he is two centimeters too short.

“It isn’t fair!” Sunkyu cries.

Sungjong sits with his brother, because what are big brothers are for but not to sacrifice a little for their siblings. Sungyeol would have laughed and just gone on without me, Sungjong remembers Daeyeol saying, and Sungjong can’t disagree.

They had managed to find a table under the shade of an umbrella but Sungjong is still drenched. Though he supposes he could be back in Gwangju where it is even hotter and more humid.

“Next time, Sungkyu-yah,” Sungjong sighs. “Next time.”

Sungjong does his best to hide his own disappointment as excited screams pass.  

“I can watch him if you want to go ride.”

Myungsoo had appeared out of nowhere. Sungjong is momentarily surprised, almost falling off the bench, but quickly pulls on a charming smile.  The older boy takes a seat.

“It’s okay.” Sungjong says. “Where’s Sungyeol-hyung?”

Myungsoo motions to the ride.

“You don’t want to ride?” Sungjong asks.

“Can’t,” is his simple response. “I… have a weak heart.”

Myungsoo looks up to see if Sungjong will laugh or question further. Sungjong does laugh, but only because he thinks that “weak heart” to Myungsoo is code word for “I don’t like rollercoasters.” Sungjong says nothing further, only shifts his body away when he notices that Myungsoo is staring at him with such intense intent.

“You have…” Myungsoo speaks after a few beats of silence. Sungjong feels something gentle touch the back of his head. “You have nice hair.”

Sungjong looks to Myungsoo, eyes wide. Myungsoo recoils his outstretched hand and looks mortified, mouth gaping like he wants to explain himself, but no words come out. Sungjong, for a moment, thinks that he almost resembles a scared cat.

A warm breeze passes between them and lips part to speak.

“Well, hyung,” Sungjong finally says, breaking into a smile too coy for a soon-to-be twelve-year-old, “it definitely is difficult to find someone like me.”

Sungjong only realizes how arrogant the words sound once they leave his lips and his mind is sent into momentary panic. But before he can retract Myungsoo is breaking into a wide grin, eyes disappearing into crescents.

“I believe it.” Myungsoo says.

And they’re both laughing, corners of lips pulled back to reveal slightly crooked teeth. Myungsoo has a louder, more booming laugh than Sungjong had expected. He still slouches, in fact he does even more when he laughs, and his nose is still sharp and hair still curly beyond belief, but Lee Sungjong comes to think that maybe Kim Myungsoo isn’t so quiet after all.

Sungjong meets Kim Myungsoo for the second time in Seoul. And it’s at this second meeting that Sungjong quickly learns “weak heart” to Kim Myungsoo does not mean “I don’t like rollercoasters.” Instead, “weak heart” to Kim Myungsoo meant exactly what “weak heart” was supposed to be. Kim Myungsoo has a weak heart.

Daeyeol wants to climb the steps to Namsan Tower instead of riding the gondola.

“Psh- do that on your own time,” Sungyeol protests. “Besides, Myungsoo can’t-…”

“It’s okay,” Myungsoo interjects. And with alarming speed, he climbs the first ten steps before Sungyeol can say more. “C’mon.”

Sungyeol gives an incredulous stare, which Myungsoo attempts to ease with wide mouth smile.

“I’m fine,” he says.

He isn’t fine. It’s thirty more steps up and Myungsoo needs to stop every twenty or so more to catch his breath. The few water bottles they brought aren’t enough to supplement the sweat dripping down Myungsoo’s face and neck, his black polo completely soaked through.

“It’s not too late to go back,” Sungjong tells him. Daeyeol and Moonsoo have already run ahead; Sungyeol and Sunkyu waiting just a few steps up. “No one will blame you if you want to go back and ride the gondola.”

Myungsoo is heaving. Hands on his knees, back hunched. He doesn’t answer and only lifts his head to give Sungjong a dimpled smile. Sungjong comes to associate that close lipped, dimpled smile with only Kim Myungsoo. He takes it to mean that he doesn’t want to talk, but he wants Sungjong to stay.

So Sungjong pulls them both to take a seat in the shade, waving for Sungyeol and Sunkyu to go ahead, as he sits with Myungsoo in silence. A warm summer breeze blowing as they watch the sweltering city in the distance.

Sungjong meets Kim Myungsoo for the third time in a room with nun-chucks, Bruce Lee posters, and a guitar sitting in a corner by a stack of Japanese comics. Mr. and Mrs. Kim welcome him with great enthusiasm and they discuss words of contellations and palm readings and meanings of dreams. 

"Sungjong has weird dreams," Sungyeol says. He sits on Myungsoo's bed, legs spread diagonal, leaving Sungjong to crowd in a corner and Myungsoo at his desk. "Used to always wake up when he was little speaking like an old handmaid."

Sungjong throws the nun-chucks and narrowly misses an ear. 

"Really?" Myungsoo questions, looking to Sungjong in interest. 

Sungjong feels his face heat and turns away, swiping a finger across his upper lip. 

"They're just weird dreams," Sungjong mutters under a breath. "Besides, Sungyeol-hyung is always dreaming about something weirder. He's this old and still wets his-,"

"Ay!" Sungyeol cuts in with a barrage of incomprehensible sounds. Reaching across the bed he silences Sungjong with a palm and tackles him to the floor, pinning him with his legs. 

Sungjong doesn't question the the abashed look on either of the older boys' faces and instead continues to thrash in the hold, a gasping laugh escapes him. 

They meet almost every day that summer and Sungjong comes to learn many things about Kim Myungsoo. He learns that Myungsoo dresses in all black because all he owns is black (which he later learns is because he finds it makes dressing easier). Sungjong learns that Myungsoo is a simple guy.

Sungjong discovers that Myungsoo is born in March just the year before Sungjong, a good week after the grade cut-off. Yet he’s allowed to join in the same year as Sungyeol. Myungsoo is simple, but he’s also bright.

Sungjong also finds that Myungsoo very much dislikes his curly hair and is ecstatic when Sungjong teaches him the magic of a straightener. Myungsoo burns himself the first time he uses one, and that’s when Sungjong learns that Myungsoo makes a very nasally squawking sound when he screams.

Sungjong discovers by the beginning of his winter break that he gets along much better with Sungyeol and Myungsoo than he does with Daeyeol and Moonsoo. Despite the former two being a two grades above him, Sungjong found himself sitting closer to their end of the table at every meal. Perhaps they shared an older brother telepathic bond of some kind. They could commiserate. (Or maybe it had something to do with Daeyeol and Moonsoo growing wary of Sungjong’s complete inability to play any game involving a ball.)

But Sungyeol never seemed to care much about age and Myungsoo didn’t mind the extra company.

So when Sungjong tells his mother about Kim Myungsoo, he had expected her to be happier than she was.

“…Who?”

“Kim Myungsoo.”

“Oh, Kim Myungsoo, yes…” His mother is a demure woman, but Sungjong can hear her hesitance through the static of the receiver. “I’m glad the two of you are getting along.”

He feels her apprehension but thinks nothing of it. Because when he, Sunkyu and their parents make the two hour trip to Seoul for chuseok holiday, she greets the unexpected arrival of Mrs. Kim like an old friend. And Sungjong feels he can overlook the wary glances his mother shoots Myungsoo from across the roundtable or how her smile doesn’t quite spread normally when Sungjong mentions the boy when they return home. Sungjong can even ignore the briskness his father’s answer when Mr. Kim suggest that they catch up over a bottle of soju.

“I only drink yakju, now.”

Mr. Kim laughs in good humor but Sungjong isn’t the only one who finds the exchange uncomfortable.

Sungjong and Myungsoo are nestled on a couch and between pillows.

“Do your parents hate me?” Myungsoo asks after a particularly tense Christmas.

Sungjong’s parents had been smiling when they came to visit for the day. They’re smiles hadn’t fallen when the Kim had “unexpectedly” dropped by, but there was a waiver as the adults gave each other robotic hugs Sungjong’s parents left for Gwangju with stiff goodbyes.

“Auntie and Uncle?” Sungyeol yawns. “I don’t think they have it in ‘em to hate anyone. Auntie can’t even gossip with my mom.”

“My parents don’t hate you,” Sungjong mumbles half-heartedly. He feels guilty, Mr. and Mrs. Kim had always treated him well.

They’re watching a late night historical drama while Sungyeol and Myungsoo’s parents talk in the next room. Sungyeol sprawls his long limbs across the couch. Sungjong is sitting by Sungyeol’s feet, wrapped in a complex work of wool blanket and Myungsoo’s arms. He isn’t as much into skinship as he learns that Myungsoo is, but temperatures in the greater Seoul area have reached record lows and the reflection of snow on the windowsill causes Sungjong to sink his back deeper into the couch as the older boy nuzzles his head into the crook of his neck.

It isn’t prickly. Myungsoo has gotten better at using a straightener.

Sungjong doesn’t hate it as much as he thinks he should. It’s the third winter since first meeting Myungsoo, one month before he finishes his first year of middle school, three months after his fourteenth birthday. And since entering seventh grade Sungjong finds increasing discomfort in the obsession over his girlish eyes and delicate frame.

Sungjong has always been aware of his softer features. He knows he’s pretty. He wishes it wasn’t the only thing his classmates talked about.

Your voice got deeper… Myungsoo is the only one to acknowledge. And so Sungjong increasingly finds comfort in this moment nestled between Sungyeol and Myungsoo.

“Yah, Lee Sungjong.” Sungyeol kicks Sungjong in the side. “Go get me some water.”

Sungjong heaves a deep sigh and makes a move to untangle himself from the warmth.

“I’ll go,” Myungsoo offers as he slips out from under the blanket. 

“Hyung, I can…”

Myungsoo only gives his customary dimpled smile and ruffles Sungjong’s hair – a habit Sungjong wishes Myungsoo would stop, it makes him feel like a child. He heads into the kitchen with a slight limp from leg stiffness.

“Yah, Kim Myungsoo,” Sungyeol shouts, “you baby him too much.”

“Hyung’s just jealous,” Sungjong quips.

“Don’t insult me in formal speech.”

Sungjong and Sungyeol exchange a series of unsavory faces (which at one point involves Sungyeol reaching out to tackle Sungjong into the sofa cushions) when a crash is heard from the kitchen.

An ear splitting scream follows.

It’s nasally and squawking and Sungjong and Sungyeol are running to the kitchen. Myungsoo is hunched on the floor, eyes closed and mouth contorted in pain. His hands are wringed and clutched at his chest. Sungjong and Sungyeol care little for the glass and water scatted across the floor and rush to Myungsoo’s side. He pushes them away as he falls to the ground and writhes in pain, another choked scream escaping him.

“What’s going on?”

Sungyeol’s mother enters into the kitchen and her eyes shoot wide.

“Is this a heart attack? We need to call 119!” Sungjong’s eyes are desperate.

Sungyeol is insistent on calling Myungsoo’s name, trying to get the screaming boy to tell them what is wrong, when everyone else comes rushing into the cramped kitchen space. Moonsoo and Sunkyu look on in horror. Daeyeol has his eyes wide as he reaches for the phone.

“Don’t.” His father stops him.

“Dad!” Daeyeol’s voice holds the shock everyone feels.

Myungsoo wails and he’s clawing at his chest. He’s fetal, face red, and veins bursting along the column of his neck.

“Hyung!” Sungjong cries. He’s frozen, legs planted on the kitchen floor. He wants to move, reach out, hold onto his hurting friend but the shake in his arms tell him he may not be able to will his legs to stand. He feels helpless, helpless, helpless!  “Uncle please, we have to call an ambulance!”

Sungjong feels a heavy hand on his shoulder. Mrs. Kim had crouched beside him and, as he turns to face her, her gaze sends a chill down his spine. There was no warmth or her usual jovialness. It’s apologetic, but there is something so cold and resolute in the look she gives him. Sungjong can feel her trembling hand tighten around his shoulder, sharp nails digging into his skin. He doesn’t have time to ask when he sees something glint and there’s a sudden, sharp pain in his neck. Over Myungsoo, Sungjong doesn’t hear himself gasp or feel the firm grip of Mr. Kim pulling him to fall on his back. His head knocks on the tiles floor, arms reach for something he doesn’t know. Something thick and warm drips into his hands and it smells a lot like iron.

There’s a throbbing and muffled gargles in his head.

He can vaguely hear the terrified screams and see the looks of horror. Mrs. Lee is stunned into silence. Daeyeol and Moonsoo have mouths agape, backs pressed against the wall. Sunkyu gives wide eyes and a silent cry, tears and snot running down his face and Sungjong thinks he wants to tell him that big boys shouldn’t cry. But what Sungjong clearly remembers is his Uncle’s back, figure shrouded in the darkness of the hallway, turned away as if ashamed. As if he already knew this was going to happen.

Perhaps it was the shock. Maybe it was because he could still see Myungsoo crumpled in pain. But Sungjong can’t find it within himself to scream or feel hurt or betrayed when he notices Mrs. Kim gripping a kitchen knife, blood dripping from the tip. His mind doesn't even register it to be his own. 

There are still screams of horror, someone is shouting, someone is crying. Sungyeol has his attention split and panics. His head throbs, and he feels dizzy laying on the kitchen floor, mouth suddenly dry. But his last passing thought is that Myungsoo still need help. 

He's not sure what happens next but there's an odd feeling of warmth as he feels weight press onto him. A sensation of something wet attaching to his neck and–, there's more screaming and feet and arms and frenzy and his mind can't focus all too well. 

He blinks as his vision fades.

He dreams of dense forests and moonlit skies, cold hands and hot breaths. Panting, grappling, desperate. A bright star in the distance, flashing red—just out of reach. He dreams of whispers and a foreign tune...
lay the Heart beneath the night
pale moon strikes the Neck
blind the eye, forge its light
and keep close the Swallow's song 

A/N: Still trying to figure this site out but remember: I always love and miss Lee Sungjong :'(

EDIT: Forgot some important stuff. added and edited as many typos as I could find.