The worst part of the dream is that it actually happened.

Jooncheol Sir actually did it – cut him open, made him stay awake long enough to feel every single slash, pressed salt in his wounds, saw what he wanted to see, and left. Just like that. Sanghyuk didn’t need an explanation, and Jooncheol Sir sure wasn’t going to give him one, because he only ever needed Sanghyuk to fulfil his sadistic nature. That was it. That was all Sanghyuk was good for.

This memory is one that he has hidden ever since it happened, stowed away in the coldest cellar of his mind, something never to be thought about again. It was the only time that happened – and the only time it needed to happen. Because after that, Sanghyuk was so terrified of Jooncheol Sir that he felt like every single contact with him was razorblades. After that, Sanghyuk was so pliant that he would do anything just to never receive that punishment ever again.  

So he can’t stop crying even as Hongbin’s hand cards through his hair. Because it is only now that he finally realizes the horrors that he has lived through. Survived through. He didn’t receive any explanation for so many years, nor any kindness. And he’s supposed to be – He’s allowed to be angry. But he isn’t, because even now, he’s so scared of disobeying and misbehaving that he can’t even let himself grieve over his lost childhood.

Sure, there are bomb-blown holes in his memories, but he can’t decide if he can’t remember because he truly can’t or if he can’t remember because he made himself forget. He can sometimes recall the stale smell of the orphanage, the noisy wooden floors that he used to stomp on with Minhyun just to annoy the caregivers during nap time, the shy whispering in the darkness, the feeling of grass between his toes.

It is only in this moment that he realizes just how much his Sirs have taken away from him. They didn’t just take away those years. They took away his ability to trust, his ability to be happy, his ability to just even be angry with the people he should hate, and most of all they took away his future.

It’s unfair. It’s ing unfair. But somehow, he can’t blame them. And that makes everything worse by tenfold.

So he cries. He cries until dawn breaks and Hongbin doesn’t even shift for that hour even after his leg turns numb, hand moving patiently, measured. The tears stop abruptly, like a taut line being cut by a pair of scissors – so abruptly, in fact, that Hongbin is taken aback by it. It’s scary, to hear all sound being out from the space in a matter of seconds, even worse to see all movement cease. The rise and fall of his back is no more and his shoulders aren’t vibrating with the weight of a backbreaking burden. For a moment, Hongbin even thinks that Sanghyuk has smothered himself to death accidentally or something, until the boy in his lap takes in a huge, shuddering breath, like a baby animal taking oxygen into its lungs for the first time. 

A few seconds pass and the pain in the room is slowly displaced by the soft sound of bicycles passing by. It’s a new morning and yet, Hongbin is not entirely sure that Sanghyuk feels better than he did the day before.

“You… need anything?” Hongbin asks carefully, like any louder or sharper in the way he shapes his tongue and Sanghyuk might break. Smash, into a billion tiny pieces.

For a long time, Sanghyuk cannot speak.

This is not a feeling he has felt before in his life. This is complex, plus layered, plus complicated sadness. It’s not – he hasn’t felt straightforward sadness in a long time, he realizes with a jolt. There was simply no time to be sad, nor was there any time to think about whether being sad was worth it.

This is not a pain he has felt before in his life. This is intangible, this is not blood and bones and severed nerves. This is something attacking him from inside out. This is pain that he cannot simply ignore. He doesn’t even know what, or who, he’s up against.

It’s startling when Hongbin speaks for him, especially when Hongbin has been forcing him to reply, urging him to speak for the past two weeks. (It has already been two weeks, and it feels like two days) When Sanghyuk nods, Hongbin reminds him to say yes. When the room is cold, Hongbin doesn’t do anything even though he’s shivering, until Sanghyuk asks him if he should close the windows – even if ask is short of what Hongbin wants Sanghyuk to do.

“Do you want to stay like this for a little while more?” Hongbin asks. “Maybe until you calm down a little bit, that sound good?” 

Sanghyuk nods and curls tighter into himself, clenching his trembling fists definitely with more force than necessary.

He feels so numb, like he’s just floating as a speck of dust and he doesn’t really exist at all.

***

Hongbin eats his breakfast for him because he can’t stop thinking of the feeling of blood running down his skin, paving pain and suffering. They attempt a milkshake, but it tastes so heavy and thick in his mouth that for a moment he forgets where he is.

He does his chores and tries not to dissociate, even though he washes the clothes so thoroughly that Hongbin has to come in and ask (gently remind) him to stop. It’s dinner time even before he knows it and even though Sanghyuk hasn’t eaten the whole day, he thinks he might skip dinner as well. His bones ache from the strain of his muscles, tensing without his knowledge; moon shaped curves are cut deep into skin from clenching his fists – in anger or in humiliation or in frustration, he doesn’t know;

Hongbin settles in the beanbag next to him, makes himself comfortable as though he already expects to be there long. “You wanna talk about it?”

“I – um – no,” Sanghyuk whispers. “Not really.”

It’s a wonder that Sanghyuk can even speak comprehensibly, considering how incomprehensible most of his thoughts are right now.

“Why not?”

“I’m just tired of… thinking.”

“Yeah?” Hongbin smiles. “I’m tired of thinking too. Let’s just not think for tonight.”

Sanghyuk looks up and forces himself to uncoil. There is an odd sense of playfulness in Hongbin’s expression, lips upturned, dimples more prominent than ever, and Sanghyuk certains it’s the sort of smile that could bring the whole world down with it if Hongbin wanted it to.

Hongbin gets up and stands there for a moment. “Board games.”

Sanghyuk gives him a neutral look.

“Yeah! Monopoly! I think I still have it.”

For a moment, they just stand there awkwardly, not sure how to start talking, or who should start talking.

“Monopoly?” Sanghyuk’s eyebrows quirk upwards. “I don’t know how to play.”

“We can just think about playing, then.” Hongbin insists a little desperately. “Come on! It’ll be fun.”

***

Turns out, it is.

Sanghyuk picks up the rules fairly quickly, but he’s so focused on not thinking about anything else during the first hour that the game hardly goes anywhere since he’s taking so long to roll the dice, or count his money, or make sure that he’s doing everything correctly.

It’s worth it, though, because as Hongbin lets him have his time, Sanghyuk starts to realize that he’s spending too much energy focusing on having everything right. He loosens up, lets the game take him as he goes, and he realizes just how much – fun he can have, not holding onto things too tightly, and letting things go as they want to.

There is a strange comfort in going around the board, clearing each chance, or rent. Sanghyuk might not be able to ever live a normal life, but in those few hours, the cozy room is his respite. It is his home, and the fleeting emotions in his chest could almost – just almost – be mistook as happiness.

He’s careful to not let himself get too carried away in those uncharted waters, but when Hongbin lifts up a fist, he doesn’t flinch – just bumps it with his own fist.

By the end of the night, cups of noodles lie around them and even a bag of chips. By the end of the night, Sanghyuk isn’t thinking so very much anymore, and accepting Hongbin’s request feels like the only right thing he’s ever done. 

[A/N] a little bit of slipshod work, but I really wanted to post this before I go off for Christmas break. Enjoy, and please excuse the quality of this chapter.