One

He never thought he would end this way: with a debt on his bank account, a mortgage to pay for - and no income enough to afford it -, and a broken heart.

Everything has gone askew in a blink, all he has bought up is now rubber, ruins at his feet, a shatter of memories clashing on the ground, passing by his eyes, recollections of better times, of what feels like another life already - even when it has happened a fortnight before. He has lost everything, even his dignity, his integrity, his mettle. Looking back now, the flags were there, he should have seen it, act on it, but he was blinded by his gleam, by all his words, by his presence: Lee Minhyuk was his sweetheart, even if he wasn’t perfect, he could never picture him being this terrible, this sly. He was simply in love with a man who had promised him the moon and the stars and, so far, had kept his words. Now, he has not a penny to his name. He has taken it all, leaving him in shatters, with nothing but debts and expenses he can no longer afford to pay. He had bartered his house away alongside some of his possessions - his TV, the computer, his collection of drones to cover the mortgage. Thanks to Minhyuk he has been relegated to sleep on a couch at Seunghoon’s house because his balance is on red and can’t even rent a place for himself - Seunghoon has been so gracious to let him stay, not dropping him to the streets for being such an idiot, for getting scammed by who swear to be his one and only. In the end, he was his one and the only ringleader who used him to ransack his savings, to let him wandering on the streets trying to connect the broken pieces of one life shared that is now tattered on the sea, just a passing memory: dawn before the darkness he lives in currently.

Just yesterday he was snuggling cosily next to him: the picture of a perfect dream, with his cheek on top of his crown of dark, short hair, his lips kissing his forehead. He woke up to find a cold, empty bed and no explanation. He woke up to find that his beloved was gone - and, with him, all of his money, but tears blocked the whole view, his new reality.

It didn't click until he received the bank notice: he hadn't paid for the mortgage, he was in the red and he couldn't understand how it had happened: Jinwoo was always been up to date with his payments. Then he joined the dots that pointed at him, at his doings: his bank account was overdraft, emptied the same day he had disappeared which was hardly a coincidence - and it hurt so much more to discover that Minhyuk was a swindler than to be left behind with nothing to explain why.

Minhyuk was so attentive, so kind and handsome, elegant and well build, with his interesting chatter: all wits and fun. He was seductive and irresistible and Jinwoo found himself falling to his charms, all his senses flooded by him, defenceless to his flirts. It took four dates to kiss him, a month into the relationship to hand him keys to his apartment, another month for him to settle down with him, living in his place. He let him in without questioning, totally under his spell. He was so sharp and cunning and intelligent, but also sensible with Jinwoo, the perfect words for every situation ready on his lips, his hands steady, always ready to reassure him. He has been such a comfort, a blessing, and he has never had a reason to suspect him, not even when Minhyuk stopped paying his part of the rent, asking him for cash on occasions because he had had a bad month with clients. Jinwoo never really knew what he did for a living, he only knew that the coffee shops were his office and that he did something related to CAD - which wasn’t synonymous with hacking, but Jinwoo was on the wrong. the police have informed him that Lee Minhyuk was, indeed, a professional hacker, searched for siphon funds up to billions of wons. It was a bitter comfort to know that he wasn’t the only scammed one or that his testimony could be of help to the police - he just wanted the misery to go away, to feel complete again, to feel his fingers caressing his hair, a promise of forgiveness; he just needed his life back.

He has been so innocent, so naive and gullible, so in love... The only one to blame is him, he knows, for being so trusting, for granting him access to everything that belonged to Jinwoo. He, too, has given permission to enter his accounts but Jinwoo never tried that, he believed in him and had no reason to break his trust despite whatever Seunghoon thought, against his better judgement. Now he is paying for it, twice as hard as it should be, living with Seunghoon and his constant worry over him, the fact that he is a nuisance to his friend - the reality that he has been right all the time for doubting Minhyuk since the beginning, since the first time he introduced them, years ago. Seunghoon has been nothing but accommodating to him, biting his tongue to remind him of his problems - he has taken him in, no questions asked and Jinwoo is so thankful for his help, he doesn’t know how to start repaying him for this big deed he has done to save him.

He has been buried on the couch since then, curled in a foetal position for two weeks already, only moving to go to work, the only activity he has been performing since becoming homeless - he has been saving all his energy to think in a way to get back on track, getting over Minhyuk and his fraud. He has been considering how to settle his debt - with his salary, it will take more than forty years for the pay-off and he doesn’t think he will make it this long. He has surfed the internet but he hasn’t found anything useful or practical - he has been thinking no selling his organs but it sounded a bit dangerous and a lot illegal and he is done with illegalities. Crowd-funding should be worth a try, but he doesn’t have the strength to explain his motives, the reasons why he is between the devil and the deep blue sea, and he doesn’t want to involve a bunch of nice people in his messy, ruined life - is it bad as it is, with only Seunghoon known. He needs a plan because he is abusing his friend’s hospitality but he is so down, so broken and torn he can barely breathe - it hurt so much when everything reminds him of Minhyuk, of all that once was dear to him and that is now nothing but sand on the wind.

Minhyuk lied to him, he took advantage of his sentiments, turned his heart upside-down and stole his feelings, leaving him prostrated to his feet, utterly enamoured. He had played with him, used him like a toy and he smiled, taking it for love. He threw him into the garbage and Jinwoo allowed it, let it happen. Finally, Minhyuk slide out of his fingers, out of his word and he misses him despite all the pain he has brought to his heart - time won’t heal him from the injuries he has received, scars all over his chest.

It all started with a smirk, a glance, a name on a handsome face. It was so easy to fall for the devil, it was all written on his stars and he just followed the flow, his irresistible charms, his strong appeal, his voice calling his angel, driving him mad with feelings, drunk on his eyes, the way he danced in front of him, his sight always laying on Jinwoo, trailing him. How he wanted it, what he was offering, the temptation of love; he took it, opened the door, let him inside his core, ambers igniting a fire that would burn him alive, consuming every nock of his being, every won in his possession.

Jinwoo remembers every minute spend with Minhyuk, all that had transpired between them, all the love he thought they share but that was smoke coming from the bonfire he made out of the broken pieces of his existence. He shaped him as he pleased, changed him, made him weak, willing, pliant, subjected to his desires - he has given up everything for Minhyuk: friends and family, even his name, waiting for nothing but to be with him. He used him, now he knows, and the knowledge weights on his shoulders, shattering him from the inside, smashing every inch of his soul. He has been wasted, a pawn on the game he played, a game far away from all the words he has said, all the promises that he has deleted but that are still engraved inside his mind, playing on repeat, a broken record, a picture on the fridge. More than his money, he wants Minhyuk back because he doesn’t know how to live without him to guide him – he was the beaming light inside his eternal night. But, in their relationship, the only one who gained was him, parasitising Jinwoo all the time. He leeched off Jinwoo, who maintained him, paid for all his luxuries, giving back nothing to him – paying his dedication with dust and smirks. Not at the beginning, though; back then he was a gentleman, the best of all, always kind and caring and attentive, lovely beyond words.

When did it all bend down? Was it always his plan to ruin Jinwoo? He doesn’t know, he doesn’t have the courage to ask, to find out. What he needs is to stop being a spot, curled down at Seunghoon’s couch, he has to do something, cheer up and begin again, lead his own existence as he did before his fate brought Minhyuk to his front steps. Jinwoo wants to fade away, leave all behind, forget all the monsters running wild inside of him, eating him alive.

There must be a way to get rid of them in one go without having to sacrifice his own existence. If only he were more open, more easy-going if he didn’t have so much remorse… he could just do exactly as Minhyuk has done to him: step into someone’s life and let him pay for his rent, for his expenses – but his conscience won’t rest in peace if he does that and maybe getting two more jobs would be better upon further consideration.

He tries that and gets up from Seunghoon’s room. He works in the office, at the convenience store the night shift and, at weekends, as a bartender: he naps in the car and uses the office’s bathroom as his own. The money is good, it’s enough to keep him afloat but working to exhaustion doesn’t leave him with time to search for an apartment – and he doesn’t have the energy to even consider it, he is too tired to think, he survives on coffee and the leftovers from the shop (the products that are out of date) and sleeps four hours a day if he is lucky.

He is lucky, indeed, because his mind spins and time escapes from between his fingers and Minhyuk is a shadow, a pale ghost that only appears in his dreams – but he is too worn out to dream about. He keeps thriving, keeps making ends meet, balancing his bank account, paying back the debt. He is doing good: forgetting and forgiving with time, consumed entirely and solely at work.

A letter from the bank breaks the vacillate calm, announcing the storm that falls upon him under the guise of active debt. He must pay a large sum or else, the bank will kindly seize the rest of his possessions – the little that he still has. He can’t afford to lose the rest of his meagre belongings because he needs the car and the few pieces of furniture stored in a warehouse. He will have to give up his salary just to pay it off, renounce all types of expenses: a life dedicated to work alone – a life devoted to satisfying a scam he has been tricked with.

He is seriously considering killing himself – he is already drowning in debts, sinking in water won’t feel too different. It is too much for him: the world spins and he loses balance, his axis breaking down, crumbling under the efforts of working 24hours a day without stop. He puts more responsibilities on him, takes an extra job that will help him to carry on and survives out of caffeine and sheer willpower, the obsessive thought of paying off the debt he that he has – he will find a way to restore his life, to be back at square one (back to before Minhyuk happened, stomping into his heart, playing with it at his pleasure). Until then, he barely gets on, exhausted, ragged, head empty, every day repeating itself, living like a zombie – feeling nothing, hollowed, stripped of all the emotions, his mouth dry, only blood flooding his brain: he has given up.

He walks aimlessly, his old shoes dragged on the mod. The wind blows his brownish hair and he shivers, the warm spring icing thin flesh barely covering bones that stick all over his body. The air hits hard on him, sweeps him, trembling like falling leaves. He wants the dizziness to stop, the cold chills striking on his spine to go, his eyes dozing, head foggy, his senses drowsing, drowning into a bast dark void of voices pointing his sins, saying his name in whispers that make him stumble on the street, his sight gone: daylight replaced by night – a starry night. The floor hits with him, slamming against his chin, cheeks colliding, pavement scratching, wrenching him down. With his eyes open all is blankness, hollowness, mind swirling, sinking into the nothingness, all the air leaking from his lungs to the sky.

He wakes up to the perfume of vetiver and bergamot, a layer of royal apple and cedarwood, sweetly tickling his senses back. He feels weary, head hurting, a rhythmical thumping on her forehead that is symmetrical on both ends – the earth twirls and the sky dances above him, his eyes half-closed, lids protecting him from the sunset. There is a crow around him the sound of people worrying, feet that come and go, wondering eyes trailing on his figure, his limp body laying on the ground, his skull resting on something fluff and soft – something that smells expensive, silky and cold, bringing colour to his cheeks. The afternoon carries the torrent of murmurs, whispers to the wind, voices shaded with concerns, inquiring gazes falling on him.

“Are you quite all right?” someone wonders, a voice closer to him, clear and resonating, urging him. There is a hand on his nape, another on the arch of his back, holding him, helping him stand. Jinwoo feels so dizzy still, his mind confused, fuzzy, a constant buzzing behind his ears, ringing annoyingly. And he is so, so tired: if he could only close his eyes, sink back to that pleasant nothingness, his head on the smooth material, letting the coolness of it restore his synergy: he would be happy, content. The same hand is now drawing patterns on his skin, reassuringly, keeping him up, watching the mayhem he has caused. There are other people around, offering him water, candies and words of wisdom. A lady is smiling beatifically at him, assuring him that it has been a dizzy spell, just a bit of queasiness, nothing that a good rest won’t heal. He nods, appreciating the concerns, chewing on a gum someone has given him but he knows it’s more than giddiness – he is burnt out, can’t stay focused, his mind thumbs and aches and all around seems to float. “Come here,” the gentle, same voice says, aiding him up, holding him when his legs crumble down, giving up all support. His sight becomes shorten, darkness dancing around the corners, blurring the edges and he rubs his eyes, tiredly, tries to get rid of the drumming inside his head. “Easy, easy,” he says, stabilising him, “maybe we should get you to the hospital,” he offers, looking around. Most of the passers-by have dissolved, leaving just him and this kind man who smells like winter mornings and warm fireworks on the beach. All of him screams expensiveness, from his strange sunglasses to every ring covering his tattooed fingers, to the texture of his clothes – despite them being a conjure of bad taste, the epitome of wearing everything mixed all together.

At the mention of the hospital, Jinwoo quickly shakes his head – because he can’t afford the fee, he can’t miss a day of work.

“Thanks, but I’m good, don’t need to trouble yourself,” he dismisses him politely, cheeks warm with shame, looking down, wanting for nothing but to escape this situation he has found himself on – Jinwoo cautiously checks on his phone and sighs: it is impossible to make it to his shift, not with the throbs of his head, not when limping, knees melting, watery bones.

“Are you sure?” he insists, his fingers around his wrist, subjecting him, keeping him upright. He sizes him up, gauging his state, mumbling discreetly. “No, you look ragged and exhausted. I won’t be able to live with my conscience if I leave you like this,” he says, more to himself than for Jinwoo.

Jinwoo tries his best to resist, arguing with him, amiably rejecting his care to no avail because he insists and persists and promises him that everything will be all right – but it won’t: he won’t get the money to pay and he is going to lose the rest of his meagre savings (and will have to crawl back to Seunghoon’s place, asking, again, for his help).

“My name is Song Minho,” he introduces himself, shaking his hand while escorting him to his car – an Aston Martin, Jinwoo realises, perplexed.

“I’m sorry to be a nuisance to you,” Jinwoo apologises once again, “I’m Kim Jinwoo,” he adds, utterly ashamed – he hasn’t had a shower today, he has been running out of cash to pay for the sauna, the place where he, sometimes, crashes out. He feels so out of place, sitting in comfortable, leather seats, the AC on hitting his face, a luxury he can’t afford. Minho talks to him amid the drive, chatting about little nothingness, just to keep him awake.

“I’m glad I found you,” he beams, smiling at him with so much brightness it hurt. He looks at him from the brim of his eyes, enjoying the disastrous view – baggy clothes, pale skin, spots that are more dust than freckles, tired wrinkles on his forehead: he looks terrible (has since Minhyuk abandonment, hasn’t laughed in months, has just been counting money and searching for ways to survive). “I was going to grab a cup of coffee at one of my cafés,” he explains just to say something, breaking the ice between them, “do you know “Osechill”, the franchise? It belongs to me,” and there is a proud layer covering his words. He must be very successful, Jinwoo ponders, staring into the distance, nodding at him – listening only halfway. “When you just fell on the ground. You were unconscious for a few minutes, but we put some cologne and it made effect, you opened your eyes and recovered your senses, though you look as if a bus hit you a while ago,” he comments, smirking gently, observing him intently as if making sure of his health, evaluating the risk of not bringing him straight to the hospital for a check-up.

“Well,” Jinwoo begins, the urge to justify himself growing strong, “I’ve been caught up with work at the office,” he lies, afraid to be thrown if he mentions what he does for a living – and, even when it is nothing to be ashamed of, he doesn’t want to reveal that much to a stranger.

“Oh, must be very busy, then,” he smiles at him, “where do you want me to drop you?” he asks and Jinwoo thinks that his place would be perfect – that he has nowhere to go, he could easily drop him at the nearest trash container and he could call it home.

He is about to give him Seunghoon’s address when the idea blooms inside his head. He seems to be a nice person, and very rich – after a minute observation of his golden Rolex, his fancy sunglasses, the weird meddle of brand new clothes, the car he drives and the fact that he owns a well reputable coffee shop. He could do it, he just needs to seduce him – and, by the way, he glances at Jinwoo, he is sure it wouldn’t cost him much, that he is ready to be liked, to be loved. Jinwoo could slide his hand and hold his, kiss him slowly, tentatively, ask him to bring him home – to bring him home to Minho, - and half of his problems would be solved, - he could sleep with a handsome man who appears to be enthralled with him already, his thumbs pit-patting on the wheel, his eyes half on the road, half staring at him from the rear-view mirror. His heart palpitates quickly, the thumps of it like a rhapsody, his mind planning, thinking, a turmoil of ideas and regrets sinking into his head, his blood warm flooding. He could do it – he needs to do it, he can’t take care of himself any longer (he is at the edge of his power, he has no more energy to carry on and Minho is so willing to be relayed on, it would be a pity to waste the opportunity).

Of course, he has a lot of qualms and the mere thought makes him uneasy, covers him with shame, reluctance – but it is this or sleep on the streets again. He sighs. Jinwoo doesn’t want to use him, doesn’t want to pretend for a living but all his other options have brought him there, to the end of his sanity, to the point where he is evaluating to lure a boy to get his money – to do to other what Minhyuk did to him, which is horrid and terrible (but his life is at stake). He is torn and Minho is watching him, waiting for instructions.

He doesn’t have time to argue with his own, conflicted emotions: Minho decides for him.