When it fell, it started with a drizzle. Light, and barely there. People said that those moments were romantic for couples and sweet memories for children. Their thoughts brought amusement. Were they pretending to have forgotten, or did they not know what it was that followed?

“Hello, my name is Dongwoo. I hope we can get along well.”

The well-built boy with dark hair looked up, smirking when he saw the other standing in the doorway, as though intimidated by his presence. He took off his headphones, throwing them carelessly on his bed. He strode to the door, confidence and charisma surrounding him in a dangerous yet intriguing aura.

He stopped in the narrow space, his whisper momentarily paralyzing his new room-mate.

“Hello Dongwoo, my name is Howon. Remember me.”

An umbrella was raised. The outside of it was silvery-grey, normal, fitting in well amongst others. The inside was a startling red, encasing the one it sheltered. Raindrops pattered against the frail shield, some of them getting under and landing on those half-bleached jeans. One, two, three,  and four. Five, six, seven, and eight. They wouldn’t stop. The dark patch got darker, and bigger. It was something that would definitely take a long time to dry up.

He walked along the hallways, hood up, head down. It wasn’t an unusual sight, with the examinations taking up everyone’s energy and bringing down the atmosphere of the campus. The fabric was decorated with random circles and graphics, its vibrant colours toned down a notch through constant wear. He made it back to the dorm, slumping onto the couch once he was in. College life was stressing him out, for sure. And it didn’t help that he wasn’t the least bit interested in his own major. It was a hasty choice, a wrong choice. He never should have listened or given in to his persuasions. He brought his knees up and hugged himself, burying his face into his folded arms.

“How was class today?” His head shot up and he untangled himself immediately, plastering a weak smile on his chapped lips.

“Not bad. We learnt a new routine. Do you want to watch?” It didn’t even qualify as a question. Of course he knew the answer. It was always the same. Always the same.

“Yes, if you don’t mind.” Of course he did, but Howon didn’t have to know. In fact, he wouldn’t want to know.

The music played and he danced, feeling the aches and bruises lining every part of his body. They hurt, but he danced on. This was his life, literally. This was all he had, even if he didn’t want it. He had to be thankful, grateful for reaching this pedestal that everybody else longed for. In truth, he was too dirty to even look at it, much less touch it. Only with Howon’s permission had he climbed to that status, and he would stay there for as long as he wanted. It was the smallest thing he could do to repay him, after all. There was nothing else of value he had, not in his eyes, not in anyone else’s eyes either.

When the song ended, he felt those sturdy hands on his hips and a face nestled into his neck. He was panting hard and perspiring badly, but Howon didn’t seem to mind. His long sleeve was pushed up slowly, gentle fingers brushing against the ugly bluish-black spots. A barely noticeable shiver passed through his body as warm, soft lips pressed onto his bruises. He stared into those orbs that made his armor crumble every single time. Addiction, that’s what he named this unexplainable feeling. At that moment, he realised it could be what he actually lived for. It would be a long while before it fades, he decided. If it ever were to fade, that is.

Seconds, minutes, days, months and years ticked by. It became harder to trudge through the onslaught from above, the merciless swords piercing through thin clothing and cutting into skin. A stumble, a slip, then a fall. Gashes appeared on pale, trembling hands. Scarred. Red liquid seeped onto the fragile palm, slowly gathering into a mini puddle, trickling stained water into the raging sea beneath. Lost.

It wasn’t just the classes any longer. By then, each and every second of his life was constantly welcomed by pain and hurt. The physical part was bad, yes, but that he could withstand.  It provided relief in a way; the knowledge that Howon cared enough to hurt him soothed the pain, the numbing sensation that followed gave him a place to call home, even if it were temporary. It was the mind games he played which took him apart piece by piece, scattering them into unreachable voids.

He feared them, but he couldn’t leave. He wanted to run, but he was in far too deep. He despised the man, but he was his only source of comfort.

Only Howon could tell him he was beautiful.

Only Howon could see past his monstrous face.

Only Howon could look at him, and know his name.

Drip. Drip. Drip. The silent sound of the blood droplets falling was deafening.  The empty echoes pressed down hard, cutting off the oxygen supply little by little. It didn’t hurt any longer –it had gone way past the point of pain. Obliviousness piled on layer by layer, softening the striking of molten spears on skin. It felt like pure bliss.

Howon had someone else.

It was expected. He would never be good enough for him, that he understood and accepted fully. Yet the knowing of what would follow hadn’t made it any easier to bear with. That feeling, it wasn’t something he could put into words. All he could say was that it hurt more than slitting, and brought less joy than slicing into pink, raw marks.

Red was a sign of life, he told himself.

Red was danger, passion and beauty, he believed.

Red was heaven when it was his and never-ending, he knew.

He had to keep it going, at least until it covered two-thirds of the white marble tiles. The only beauty he could give would be his last, and he wanted it to be memorable. That way, Howon would still see him wherever he went. A deep, maroon spread glimmered ever so slightly under the weak fluorescent lamp. The air felt heavy and his breaths became slower, shallower. There was a warm light, inviting him into its embrace. It was so tempting, so welcoming, so blissful. He waited. Before he left, he had to make sure of something. It was all that his life had revolved around throughout those long years. The fear of forgetting, and the fear of being forgotten. Every single one of his cards was laid out now, and all he could do was to hope.

Howon’s eyes were a beautiful onyx colour. At last, his lips curled up in a painless smile. He wouldn’t have to tell him anymore. He was sure of it. He wouldn’t have to tell him, don’t forget to remember.

They said to not wait for the rain to stop, but to dance in the rain.

They said it wouldn’t hurt to try, that not letting go was the key.

They said there would be a rainbow after the storm.

Except they forgot.

They forgot that Jang Dongwoo’s storm didn’t have a rainbow.