if you don't understand Daewon's role in this story, please read this blog post first: http://www.asianfanfics.com/blog/view/1168106

Hongbin drops Sanghyuk off at Daewon’s house with a long, drawn-out hug. Sanghyuk seems to have no recollection of the drive there. It throws him off: trying to recall anxiously what turns Hongbin took and whether he’ll be able to find his way back – way home – if he has to run, that he’s starting to get fidgety.

Sanghyuk wants Hongbin to hug him tighter. He wants to be held, to have his pieces welded together again, or if he’s not allowed to ask that much, to feel like the hug could last longer, until he’s ready to go home.

It’s in the evening and Hongbin is dressed in a suit. All black with a slim tie, watch glistening where his sleeves tease upwards. Sanghyuk, on the other hand, is wearing a short sleeved shirt, hair tied back. Short sleeves are foreign to him, and it’s a big step he had to take. No one except Hongbin or Nakhun has seen his arms. But he figures, since he’s going to live with Daewon, might as well show him his scars from the very first day.

Daewon’s stare doesn’t linger long, but he takes in the marred skin on Sanghyuk’s arms with a sort of surprise that no one can possibly hide. There are long strips raised and other parts indented, as if someone cut out a chunk of flesh.

Hongbin eventually lets go and looks straight at Daewon. “You better take care of him, or I’ll kill you.”

“Talking that way to a hyung,” Daewon laughs incredulously. “Don’t worry, I will. Remember the 10pm call.”

“How could I forget.” Hongbin squeezes Sanghyuk’s shoulder. “I’ll talk to you at 10 okay?”

Sanghyuk nods, and then, softly, not caring how childish the words are, “I’ll miss you.”

Daewon almost wants to shrivel up (his toes do) at how cute Sanghyuk is and how trusting he is with Hongbin. If he didn’t know them, he would think they were lovebirds.

“I’ll miss you too, Hyuk-ah.” Hongbin smiles with a hint of regret. “Get better soon and come home, okay?”

“Okay. I’ll try my best.” Sanghyuk adjusts the strap of his duffel bag on his shoulder. “Bye hyung. Good luck for your company dinner.”

Hongbin gives a final bow to Daewon and when he closes the door behind him after slipping on his shiny dress shoes, it’s only Sanghyuk and Daewon left in the doorway. The air should be awkward, but Daewon has a headstrong way of daring people to even try arguing with him about his lifestyle.

“I already have a room for you, you can place your bag there and unpack.” Daewon walks him to an empty room with an amazing view, almost like the one he gets at the apartment, but higher up. More high-rises. “Feel free to shift the furniture however you want. The cupboard is in such a strange position because the last sub wanted the door of her room at least partially blocked.”

Along the shelves on the wall, there are pebbles – worry stones, as Daewon explains. The last one is his; a deep purple one with ”Heal” engraved on top of it with white ink, and he’s supposed to buy two new ones, one for the next occupant of the room when he leaves as a sort of support system for someone else struggling, the other to leave behind as a mark of where his surrender flag had been folded up carefully. Sanghyuk picks his stone up and runs a finger over the top of it, feeling every line. He’s glad that the last tenant managed to fly from the nest, and he likes that she bought this particular stone for him. Even if there is no way that they could possibly know each other, Sanghyuk feels as if she already understands him more intimately than a lot of people do.

“How do you feel about touch?” Daewon suddenly asks.

Sanghyuk struggles to find a word when Daewon adds on to his question. “Like, how do you feel when Hongbin hugs you?”

This, he knows. “Safe. Warm?”                                       

Daewon nods pensively. “What about before you learned to trust Hongbin?”

“Like… I had to – I had to, enjoy, it.” Sanghyuk says, but he cannot find the right words. “Like… I had to stay still.”

“Do you like touching people?”

Sanghyuk gets a little nauseous. “Touch c – calms me. But I don’t like touching people.”

“Why do you think you don’t like touching people?” Daewon pushes his questions further and further, and Sanghyuk knows this is something he’ll have to cope with for the next few days.

“I’m not… clean.” Sanghyuk says abruptly, before he loses the courage to answer. “It’s o – okay if I get hurt, not okay if I h – hurt some – somebody else.”

At that, Daewon stands up, holding out his hand for Sanghyuk to shake, which Sanghyuk reluctantly does, holding back the instinct to wince.

Daewon shakes it firmly. “Hi, I’m Daewon. It’s so nice to meet you.”            

Sanghyuk stares confused, until he realizes that Daewon wants him to do the same. Hastily, he says, “I’m Sanghyuk.”

“You seem like a nice boy. So don’t worry, I’m sure we’ll get along well.” Daewon smiles as he releases the handshake. “You can unpack your things, we’ll start the day tomorrow so just take your time to settle in. I’ll be outside if you want to talk.”

Then as if he hasn’t done anything at all, Daewon walks – almost saunters, out of the room, leaving Sanghyuk staring at his hand in wonder of someone touching him even after confessing to not being clean.

***

Sanghyuk carefully places his textbooks on the table in a neat stack, his stationary in the stationary holder. He has class with Ravi in two days and he hopes he’ll be alright enough to learn, still. He very desperately wants to prove that he’s something other than a broken boy. Which is why he signed the contract, and why he’s gripping the worry stone so tightly in his hand.

He’s going to try his best to Heal.

Sanghyuk shakes his head with amusement at how far he’s come, doesn’t allow the hope to mess with his head, and tucks the stone in his pocket. He ignores the itching of his scars because if this feeling is somehow just self-deception and he gets disappointed in the end… well, at least it wouldn’t be something new.

***

Hongbin steps out of the car into the autumn chill.                                                                          

As the heel of his shoe makes a click against the pavement, the flashes of the camera also go off in a torrent of light. He gets bombarded by a rain of questions, none of which he hears over the shouting of his name by journalists trying to get his attention. The people on the street are staring. He reckons some of them are even taking out their phones to search his name. It is in times like these that he realizes he’s separated from normalcy not only by wealth and name, but also by so much more than that.

A space is created around him by two bodyguards and they herd him through to the building. The moment the revolving glass door closes behind him, seals him in a vacuum of neither-here-nor-there, neither this world nor the next, everything falls silent. For a moment, he considers turning back around and just going home, but then he sees his mother approach him in his peripheral vision like a vision out of a daydream.

“Hi, Hongbin. Come in,” She smiles. “Please.”                                                           

Hongbin’s skin sparkles with pain. He hasn’t heard this tone of voice since the last time he was in this very building. It makes sense, after all. Most of their relationship exists only because there are people watching.

So for formalities’ sake, he says, “Hi, Mom.”

She takes him by the arm, stiffly, and glides across the floor like the well-trained ballroom dancer she is. In a flurry of motion – so like the quickness of dancing but so unlike the sincerity of it – she makes him say hi to all the big shots in the room. One by one, Hongbin clears the list: bows, shakes hands, endures the forced-out compliments about how handsome he is.

His cheeks hurt.                                                

The only reprieve he gets is talking to his sisters over chocolate eclairs at the food table. They both look a little bit older, a little bit more mature. But it hurts that they’re not getting older in the way he wanted them to when he was younger and daydreaming about visiting his nephews or nieces while his sisters cook in pink aprons. Now, instead of complaining to him about boyfriend troubles, they’re more concerned about company shares.

Still, they try to connect with him. They say (and he believes them) they still buy his magazines and hide them from their mother. They praise his photography, ask about Hakyeon, and recall things from their past. It’s a nice type of heaven, next to his two sisters, but every few minutes they get whisked away by a business associate and Hongbin realizes he left that heaven long ago when he left the home.

He’ll never be granted entry again.

No matter how much he loves his sisters, they’ll never be the same as they were as kids, fighting over Nintendo. They’re way too old for that and him? Way too childish, way too boisterous.

***

Hongbin slumps on the couch, pulling off his tie with a sort of vehemence that could only be explained as hatred. Hatred towards his family, towards his mother, towards the empire that his father built, towards the empire that ruined a son and two daughters.

“Where’s Sanghyuk?” Hakyeon asks as he walks over, placing a cup of honey water in Hongbin’s hand hanging off the couch. “At home?”

Hongbin sits up with a groan and downs the cup. “At Daewon’s house.”

“They’re friends? Daewon didn’t even tell me.” Taekwoon’s eyes widen in surprise as he sits on the floor to eat an apple. “Why is he there?”

“Ah, that’s right Taekwoon hyung,” Hongbin places the cup on the table. “Was meaning to ask you. He’s at Daewon’s house as Daewon’s client. Does that sound weird to you?”

 “I mean… If he’s ready, I don’t think its weird.” Taekwoon shrugs. “My best friend at the ward was anorexic. It’s not like we made each other worse. I think we got out a lot faster than if we didn’t have each other.”

Hakyeon nods. “Just knowing the struggle of another person is most often a greater support than anything else. Plus Daewon even knows how to solve the struggle.”

“Some of the best decisions are painful.” Taekwoon says quietly, biting into the apple again. “Or the important ones at least.”

Hongbin collapses back into the couch.

Hakyeon reaches over to grab the apple from Taekwoon, hand intentionally brushing across Taekwoon’s arm in a display of concern. Taekwoon lets his apple get taken and grumbles – his strange, violent way of saying “I’m okay”.

Relieved, Hakyeon mumbles with a mouth full of apple. “How was the dinner?”

Hongbin croaks out, “Terrible. My cheeks hurt.”

“At least you’re not crying,” Hakyeon laughs and reaches over to pinch his cheek. “You did well, you brat.”

“Whatever.” Hongbin pushes Hakyeon’s hand away. “I’m going to take a nap. Can you wake me up at 9.45? I need to give Sanghyuk a call at 10.”

Taekwoon throws him a blanket.