The First Twin

Loneliness. Painful, sad loneliness. He had been abandoned since the very beginning. He couldn’t remember a day, no, an hour, no, a minute, no a second, without having to fight for his life. Against animals, against the cold, or the heat. For his food, for water. To survive. He didn’t even have a name back then. He still didn’t have one when he met the Second Twin. The Second Twin, a bit younger than him. Everything he wasn’t, everything he wanted, everything he needed. Everything he loved.

They had met when the First Twin had found a small but warm little family, hidden somewhere away from the King’s view and knowledge. They had welcomed him, poor child that only had skin and bones, and they had given him food, water, bed. The next morning, when he had woken up, there was a kid just about his age sitting on his bed and staring at him with kind eyes.

“Hi, I’m Donghae!” he had said. “What’s your name?”

The First Twin had frowned.

“I don’t have a name.”

“We have to give you one, then.”

“No. No, don’t. I don’t need a name.”

“How will I call you then?”

“Don’t call me. You don’t need to. I have to leave.”

“Where will you go?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then stay with us!”

“I can’t. I’m not part of your family.”

“You can be, if you want to.”

“No. I’ll leave. Thanks for the food. Say thanks to your parents for me.”

He had left without looking back. A few years had passed before he came back, now fifteen years old, half-dying, despaired to find anything to eat. He had found the little house burning into raging flames, and he had desperately rushed inside the house to save its occupants. It was too late to save the mother and the father; they were already dead. But the boy was still alive. Heavily burned, but alive. He had decided to live for him. With him. Forever.