For Dongyeol

Pairing: 2woo

Prompt: “I Don’t Love You” – My Chemical Romance, Angst

on a slate

- we kill the ones we love most -

Dongwoo meets a smiling boy while scouring through the dirty, abandoned streets of London for some sort of inspiration, any kind – it was a crazy, on-the-spot type of decision really, but Dongwoo doesn’t quite regret catching the last bus of the day to a somewhat foreign part of the country. This boy tells Dongwoo that his name is Woohyun, that he’s an orphan and that he has his chubby cheeks due to strangers giving him sufficient food to survive.

There’s something that strikes Dongwoo, something about this grinning kid who’s missing a front tooth; Dongwoo stares at him, hard, and wonders why Woohyun totters about in broken sandals and tattered overalls if those strangers were as kind as he claims.

He isn't completely sure whether it’s legal (he thinks it probably isn’t) but an artist without inspiration is a desperate one, and Dongwoo’s desperation teeters on the edge of insanity. Painting is a need to Dongwoo, an insatiable, raw sort of hunger that wipes all traces of common sense from his mind. And so Dongwoo brings his new-found muse to a studio he’d bought six years back, seating Woohyun in a slightly dusty sofa and giving him instant noodles from the grocery store down the road. It isn't much of a meal really, but Woohyun thinks he’s found a home and a half-family because no one has ever spoken to him the way this man does, in soft tender tones that bathe him in warmth and security.

Woohyun tells Dongwoo that he’s the most beautiful person he’s ever met (because Woohyun’s a child, and children’s vocabulary doesn't include words like deceit, motives and schemes – they prefer simpler ones that are easy to spell and easy to understand, most of all easy to see; Woohyun’s favourite words are hugs, kisses and smiles).

Dongwoo finishes his first piece two weeks later, a lifelike portrait of Woohyun with biscuit crumbs on his chin. He sends it to an art fair and the painting fetches a high price, though it doesn't come as much of a surprise to Dongwoo because he knows Woohyun looks absolutely adorable in it. He’d painted it as the boy was snacking while looking at his previous works in awe, eyes bright and mouth slightly gaping. Dongwoo had half considered making Woohyun his disciple before he caught himself and shook his head, chuckling disbelievingly at the thought of passing on his skills to anyone. No, not even Woohyun.

Unwilling as he is to share the process, Dongwoo likes hearing people say that Woohyun is beautiful, as they do when he sneaks around the gallery pretending that he isn't the currently most sought-after artist who paints ‘the boy without a name’. Woohyun knows none of this of course, hidden in the art studio reading endless fictional books (Dongwoo taught him to) and enjoying an untouched life of what he terms luxury. When Dongwoo returns home he rewards the boy with hugs and praises similar to those sung by others in the arts scene, and Woohyun thinks he’s the luckiest kid alive.

It’s a warm night. Woohyun’s sitting in front of Dongwoo watching his eyebrows which are continuously in motion as the man attempts to conjure up the scene where he met Woohyun for the very first time. Pausing for a moment, Dongwoo points at Woohyun and the boy then realises that his ice cream’s dripping down the front of his clothing. Grunting in slight frustration, Dongwoo gets up to rummage for a clean shirt in the drawers (amongst the mess Woohyun created two days ago) and he turns back to find Woohyun staring at the half-done piece. It depicts a dim alley and two figures facing each other with their features yet to be filled in, mere outlines that are almost one with the background. Woohyun appears to recognise the location.

“I was really happy that you gave me noodles.” Dongwoo stares at the kid. It’s been approximately eight months since the incident (no wonder that he can’t remember the details) and this is the first time any of them is bringing it up.

“And that you didn't want to touch me.” What?

“They did. The uncles and aunties who gave me food. To repay them for their kindness, I suppose?” Woohyun cracks a smile that reeks of insecurity and uncomfortable memories. “But it didn't feel right.” Because it isn't.

Dongwoo lets out a sigh.

“Come here.”

Woohyun stumbles over and breathes in the scent of this father-figure, shaky breath escaping for goodness knows what reason.

“You’re here with me now aren't you? You’re safe now.”

“Safe,” the boy repeats unknowingly.

I’ll protect you.

There comes a day when this certain guest at an exhibition of Dongwoo’s famed works makes a passing comment that shouldn't affect the painter as it does, but Dongwoo’s always been overly sensitive and easily swayed.

“The boy is too plump.”

And his image of Woohyun shatters.

Woohyun realises that his meals have been decreased drastically from three to one per day and the snacks which Dongwoo used to prepare for him seem to have simply disappeared. He attempts to bear with it, because Dongwoo always treats him right and this new arrangement ought to benefit him in one way or another. It’s been two years since his days on the streets and alleys though, and Woohyun soon finds himself lacking strength and positively starving. He forces himself to remain awake on a Saturday night and sits by the door, waiting for Dongwoo to return so that he can perhaps ask for more food, however pathetic that seems. Dongwoo comes home sometime after midnight, nearly tripping over the crouching figure whose arms are wound tightly around his stomach.

He refuses.

As the man wipes away his tears with a worn-out handkerchief and mumbles words in a soothing manner, Woohyun trembles and cannot help but think that Dongwoo has changed.

“I-I’m hungry.” A stuttered whisper greets Dongwoo as he pushes the door open. Woohyun’s looking at the floor and he doesn't see the other’s eyes harden.

“Go back to sleep.” Woohyun wonders if it’s his imagination, because Dongwoo’s voice is so terribly cold and unfamiliar.

“Can I have a biscuit? Please?”

“No. Get lost.” Woohyun whimpers and takes a few steps back.

“I c-can’t. Fall as-sleep.”

“Do whatever the hell you want. Just get out of my sight.” Dongwoo’s seething now and Woohyun doesn't understand. To starve is an unpleasant thing. Dongwoo must’ve been mistaken, surely he doesn't mean for Woohyun to go hungry does he? He must have been too occupied recently to realise that Woohyun’s suffering from undernourishment, the boy thinks. He turns to go but the lights are off and he can’t quite see. His elbow knocks against a bottle.

Dirtied water bearing the colour of mud sloshes all over the painting Dongwoo had lain out to dry.

Woohyun stands momentarily stilled. Two seconds later he’s flung against a wall with a tight grip around his throat. Choking and gasping for air, his fingers claw against Dongwoo’s rough skin.

“Are you ing retarded?”

The tears come running down sunken cheeks and strangled sobs echo around the room. Woohyun is released all of a sudden and he struggles against the arms that embrace him, frightened and utterly confused.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry Woohyun.”

I heard that trauma and fear makes one lose weight.

“Please don’t cry anymore.”

I would never hurt you. You have to understand.

 “I just want you to be beautiful.”

Woohyun eventually ceases his futile attempts at escaping and sits huddled into himself, trying not to feel the unwanted warmth around his body. He recalls how the painting had looked like earlier that day, and imagines his stained face strikingly pale against the canvas filled with heavy ash. Dull, dark, and so very close to black – colour of the border enclosing grey.

“Stay still Woohyun, I’m trying to get it right.”

Woohyun remains in his kneeling position as Dongwoo paints on his limbs and face. He hears the artist sigh, annoyed and exasperated, probably because Woohyun doesn’t look quite right. Dongwoo steps back and studies his model, frowning at the obviously artificial scars and bruises he had painted on Woohyun’s body. He appears to give up and goes into his bedroom, slamming the door loudly behind him. Woohyun flinches. He waits for a few minutes before going to the bathroom and looking at himself in the mirror, trying to figure out what Dongwoo wanted to accomplish. His eyes widen at the sight of his body littered with injuries and he touches one cautiously, almost expecting it to hurt.

And it does later in the evening, when Dongwoo brandishes a cane out of nowhere and lashes at Woohyun, apologising repeatedly to the cowering boy and yet beating him relentlessly. Woohyun scrambles to a corner, hiding as much of his body as he can and yelping whenever the cane lands on its marked target. Dongwoo hears his pleas, sees his tears and feels his own heart overwhelmed with pain, but he cannot allow himself to stop because–

“I’m sorry Woohyun, I’m sorry, but they like broken things now. Broken vases, broken bones, broken windows and broken people. Because broken people are beautiful they think, and being whole belongs to the ugly now. I just want you to be beautiful Woohyun, do you understand me?”

Woohyun thinks Dongwoo is a monster.

When Dongwoo opens Woohyun’s bedroom door with a hint of guilt in his eyes, Woohyun knows something real bad must have been prepared for the day and his eyes dart around wildly (because Dongwoo hardly ever looks guilty; he prides himself on making Woohyun beautiful).

Woohyun shivers at the touch of calloused hands against his skin as Dongwoo caresses his arm, tracing lightly over the scars. Each graze over the split surface reminds Woohyun of when he received it, Dongwoo’s face flashing like a warning in his mind and horribly twisted grins replacing the smiles he used to love. He thinks Dongwoo’s reaching into him through the cracks, playing with his insides and mangling him to pieces. And then he thinks about the crevices that Dongwoo can’t see, deep deep deep wounds imprinted all over him.

Dongwoo rains boiling water on his legs and Woohyun screams bloody murder throughout the night.

Woohyun doesn’t feel quite alive anymore.

He lies limp, jerking slightly at the little pricks that Dongwoo makes. The artist becomes a puppeteer for today, leading sprightly pins up Woohyun’s arm. He teaches them tap dance and ballet; pirouettes simply kill while grand jetés trick the boy into thinking it’s over only to land harsh and deep, because these puppets can’t be controlled, because they’re all crippled.

Woohyun wonders if he’s imagining things because he hears scuffling and low voices that seem to come from the door of the studio. It’s closed from what he can see, but Dongwoo tends to forget and leave it unlocked on some days. He doesn't know where he finds the strength to do so but Woohyun lets out a shriek as Dongwoo sinks a knife into his cheek. And it’s yanked out twice as fast because suddenly there are uniformed men all around and Dongwoo’s being dragged away, silver metal clasping around his wrists. It seems to Woohyun that people are shouting everywhere as he’s lifted onto a stretcher and carried away from his home of five years.

The puppeteer loses every single one of his toys.

Dongwoo’s sentenced to seven years of imprisonment.

Woohyun is compensated with a new family and millions in his name.

Woohyun finds himself wandering along the same street in London one evening. He’s dressed in branded clothing now, polished boots crushing cigarette butts into the dirt beneath. He walks past a tramp sitting by the ditch, sees the man clutching onto something that vaguely resembles a paint brush and feels this little tugging inside of him.

Presses a few pennies into wrinkled hands splattered in layers of colours.

Dongwoo brings his marred palm to the left side of his chest, sobs mixed with lingering traces of the boy wearing broken smiles and a tattered heart.

StarlightSpirit: There are very few fanfictions that leave me speechless but this one really did. The way that the author took this prompt and turned it into something so heartbreaking and yet beautifully written is almost magical and I feel so sad after reading this. What an amazing piece of writing <3

Comment from prompt giver:

THANK YOU SO MUCH♥♥♥♥♡♡♡♡

This was truely beautiful, I'm actually really bad at reading fanfics(cause I get distracted/bored really easily) but this one held my full attension to the end. AMAZING JOB!