It’s the third lesson with Wonshik hyung and they’re continuing on algebra. Wonshik uses a lot of slang that Sanghyuk has been picking up like small pieces of toffee crumbs, which is really both good and bad in some ways because that day Sanghyuk used a exaggeratingly shortened internet phrase and Hongbin pretty much loses the conversation after that. Major confusion ensues and Sanghyuk learns only then that it isn’t an official word, just phrases passed out on the corners of streets like flyers for teenagers such as himself. Ever since then, Wonshik catches himself whenever he uses a slang and takes time to explain. Sanghyuk absorbs them like anything but a sponge. Words are confusing to him.

He’s still stuck on reading, which is both painful and embarrassing. Wonshik had to correct his pronunciation and stressed vowels so many times that they’ve decided to start from scratch. The kindergarten book series pretty much becomes his Korean textbook. His writing skills are also nowhere near decent – he pretty much has the proficiency of a lumbering primary school kid with awkward pencil-holding when it comes to writing. Wonshik tries to tell him that he’s doing fine, that it doesn’t matter how good he is now, all that matters is how willing he is to learn, but the failure, or rather, the fear of failure is so crippling sometimes that Sanghyuk literally can’t even bring himself to move during the lesson, almost like his body is stiff with inadequacy.

Math, however, proves to be Sanghyuk’s strong suit – on both tests Wonshik set he had scored a 90^th percentile. Numbers make sense to him. Unlike slang and emotions and poetry, numbers are unchanging, stagnant, they made some semblance of sense in his messed up head. Wonshik is thinking of pushing him further on math, even preposterously mentioning a university degree in mathematics once (Sanghyuk got so silent after that with the thought of never even being able to get to university that Wonshik never mentions it again), but Sanghyuk really can’t help but think that there are tons of people out there that are qualified to make fun of his math abilities.  

Wonshik makes Sanghyuk a lot of food, but like Hongbin, he makes food that he can’t store secretly in his room. This makes him think that both Ravi and Hongbin are better at this long-term game than any of his Sirs, and better than he knows how to handle. Hiding food has always been a backup for him, ever since he found out how easy it is for adults to completely neglect a child. His stashes of food had been the only reason why he’s still alive now, even though he doesn’t necessarily know why he tried so hard to keep himself alive all those years.

Was it because he hoped for a better morning, a better life? Was it because he knew that the day would come where one of his Sirs would be drunk enough to leave the door open? Or was it because he refused to lose any more than he has already lost? 

---

Sanghyuk is doing the laundry when Hongbin suddenly asks, “How would you feel about moving houses?”

His voice sounds so closed off and distant that there’s almost no time for consideration. In Sanghyuk’s head it doesn’t sound like a question, only a command. He forces his hands to keep moving, keep moving, so he doesn’t have the concentration (or lack of) to freak out. But his mind keeps drifting to mapping out where and when and how and why – his Sirs lived in Gwangju and Daegu and Seoul and what is he going to do if Hongbin wants to move to Seoul and they end up in a district that’s usually the last thing he sees before we wakes up in the middle of the night with cold sweat prickling at his back? But then again he can’t say no to moving because he has to go everywhere Hongbin goes, he has nowhere else to go if he doesn’t.

“Sanghyuk-ah.” Hongbin speaks up a little bit louder. “Did you hear me?”

“Yeah, hyung.” His throat is burning dully with the bruises of hands choking him but those hands shouldn’t be there, haven’t been there in a long time. There’s no logical reason for his throat to hurt, no reason at all, but he has to cough to get the words out.

“I’ve been thinking of moving out.”

“I’m okay with it.” Sanghyuk says and it comes out a fraction of a second too fast, or too clipped, and Hongbin picks up on it.

There’s a long pause.

“You’ve seem very distant these few days.” Hongbin asks. “Is there anything I can do to help?”  

Sanghyuk wants to tell him that it’s because he hasn’t been sleeping well, hasn’t been sleeping at all, actually, because how can he when his nightmares run faster than time and he can’t even squeeze in an hour of sleep before his nightmares catch up? He has been puking up his food because no matter what it is it just feels dirty and undeserved. His bed feels horrible because it’s too soft and every morning when he wakes up he’s just launched into a new panic. He’s frustrated that he’s not getting better fast enough and scared that he won’t ever get better. But he doesn’t want anyone’s help, he’s not worth the help.

Hongbin has done nothing but dole out kindness and patience towards him, but in almost corresponding amounts, Sanghyuk has been doing nothing but shrinking.

After all, what would Sanghyuk be without Hongbin? Sanghyuk wouldn’t even be alive right now without Hongbin. He’s the Sun and Sanghyuk is the moon. Where Hongbin emanates light and heat, Sanghyuk is only ever illuminated by the light of someone else. Even then, only the scarred cratered side of him shows and the other side he doesn’t ever want to reveal.

At first he thought it was because he wasn’t used to it but now he thinks it’s because maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t want to get used to it.

This, all of this, is but a fairytale after all. He’s just a little kid indulging in it for a while but this bedtime story might be ending sooner than he would have expected because they’re moving when his roots were really just starting to grow.

“Yeah, I k – know and I’m sorry hyung.” Sanghyuk says. “You can move if you want to.”

“You’re coming with me, you know that right?” Hongbin shoots back with a raise of the brow. “I want you with me.”

For what? Sanghyuk almost asks but doesn’t, because it’s not something that he necessarily wants the answer to.

“I know it’s not the time,” Hongbin starts. “But… do you, perhaps, know where you were…. before…. before, um, this? Like, running away?”

“Daegu.”

“But that means it’s not too far from here.”

“I… walked?” Sanghyuk fuels helplessly.

There’s a silence as Hongbin calculates it in his head. The distance between his neighborhood and Daegu is pretty ridiculous for anyone to walk.

Sanghyuk lets – forces his body to exhale (both literally and figuratively) and starts to hang the sopping clothes again, in the hopes of avoiding any more questions that might come his way.  

“Anyway, I was thinking of moving to Gyeonggi-do. It’s closer to work and I’ve been thinking about a change in scenery for quite some time.”

Sanghyuk feels a little heavy in his chest. “What about Wonshik hyung?”

“Commute is going to be easier for Wonshik as well so don’t worry, he can still teach you.” Hongbin sighs. “I’ve been in this place for too long and I honestly don’t even know why I’m still here. It was just supposed to be a layover place, you know? This wasn’t supposed to be it. And if I – if we don’t move soon, I don’t think I’ll ever want to move again for a very long time. This… This isn’t a good neighborhood and I don’t want to waste my life here. I want to go out and do things, you know? I want to visit places and meet good people and I want to make sure you get to experience that as well.”

That’s when the reason behind the heavy in his chest hits Sanghyuk. He’s sad because he can’t conceptualize the future in the way Hongbin can. There’s a discrepancy between what Hongbin is saying and what he can imagine. The future is limitless and he knows that. But it’s really what makes him so scared of it – that he doesn’t know when it might come, or how it might come, and he’s not ready – don’t think he’ll ever be ready to have his feet kicked out from underneath him like that. Besides, how he is right now makes almost every possibility, every tiny golden thread of a good future almost impossible.

“You can’t keep letting me be a burden, hyung.” Sanghyuk rests his head on the clothes rack and places one hand on his stomach, presses it in to keep the nausea away. “You can’t keep – keep – I’m not important.”

“Wait,” Hongbin says, clearly obfuscated. “What do you mean?”

“I can’t – I’m not gonna be that person you… want me to be.” Sanghyuk’s throat is burning. There’s an emotion bubbling inside him that he cannot name and sometimes he wants to blame Hongbin for making him feel. “I try, and I try, and – and I want so much to be okay, but I c – can’t. So how am I going to visit places and – and experience things if I can’t even step out of this house by myself?”

“It’s going to get better, Sanghyuk-ah. Things aren’t going to be like this forever. You will get better.” There’s a small pause before Hongbin continues. “And I’m willing to wait.”

Sanghyuk brings his head up and tries his hardest to look at Hongbin because this is not something he wants to spend the next few years wondering whether Hongbin was being genuine or not. “Why?”

“Because I want you to believe in a future for yourself and because – because I care for you.”

In Hongbin’s eyes, Sanghyuk sees the light of stars. It’s not perfect now, he’s never ever going to be perfect, but this is something and whatever this is, it’s better.