this is the life we have (1/1)

Fate has a weird way of working and a weird way of thinking, but above all, it has a strange simple objective—love.Lee Sungyeol had never believed in fate, always opting to go for a less complicated way of thinking, by not thinking about it at all. Sungyeol knows that he had spent half of his life not listening to a single word anyone says, but it’s not his fault their opinions didn’t matter to him. And it’s certainly not his fault they haven’t found a coping method, instead they always look at him with wide, offended eyes, telling him things other people have told him a million times before. Lee Sungyeol doesn’t care, so why is that so hard for other people to understand? Him not caring won’t affect their life in the least bit, maybe they’ll ponder over why his attitude is like that, was he a product of childhood abuse? But then they’ll forget it, and Sungyeol would have by then too.So he doesn’t really need another one of his so-called friends coming up to the roof during lunch time and telling him he should really quit smoking, that it’s bad for him (no shit, though), and that he can’t keep this up. “But I have kept it up—ever since middle school, so why should I stop now?” It was a genuine question, but Sungjong seems offended. But Sungjong has kept trying, the results being the same every time. Sungyeol doesn’t actually mind Sungjong when he isn’t trying to explain the greater good to Sungyeol. He’s sort of nice, his body so thin, he’s lost under that giant white button up uniform shirt, blazer hanging off his shoulders as if he were wearing his dad’s clothes. The reason Sungyeol doesn’t mind Sungjong is because Sungjong is a hypocrite, who is completely like Sungyeol, whether he realizes it or not.Sungjong would be a first-grade anorexic. His limbs are so thin, they’re practically paper. But Sungjong doesn’t see it, doesn’t understand that skipping all but one small meal is any sign of anorexia and all the people who try to convince him are stupid. Sungyeol would be the type of person who hates hypocrites, it’s just Sungjong is different. Sungjong is so much more fucked up than he was, it was pathetic, really.Sungyeol takes another puff of his cigarette, watching the smoke trail up in swirls, watching as it dissipates into thin air. Sungjong makes his way over to the roof, sitting next to Sungyeol and attempting to grab the cigarette away from him. It would be good if all Sungyeol did was smoke, but he drinks too, and that’s where Sungjong is really concerned. Sungjong is one of those people who put others before themselves; he does it so much he doesn’t even realize he’s subconsciously starving himself on purpose. “I won’t quit unless you start eating three meals a day and we both know that’s never.” It was a low blow, really, but Sungyeol doesn’t care, he’s beyond the point of caring really. People just need to understand that Lee Sungyeol does not give a flying fuck for all of their ordinary people problems.“I’m not starving myself.” Sungjong defends, no fire behind his words, not believing himself for one second. He blows his overgrown bangs out of the way, making another grab for the burnt out cigarette in Sungyeol’s hands. Sungyeol had rolled his cuffs up all the way to his elbows, burn marks littering his forearm. It felt good—extinguishing his cigarettes like this and Sungjong gives him a pointed look, only furthering Sungyeol’s point that he was more messed up. “It’s bad for you.” Sungjong insists.“So is starving yourself, but you don’t see me force feeding you.” Sungjong stays quiet the rest of the time, soaking up the sun, feeling the hot air brush against the coarse material of uniform.“Yeah.” He quietly agrees later, when they’re on their way back to class.Sungyeol grins, ruffling his hair before he parts for the stairwell, going further up because he’s older than Sungjong and older people need more stairs to climb, according to the school’s class layout.Despite the smoking and the alcohol, he is a good student, always listening and always learning what’s in between the lines of the textbooks. Today, however, he was tired, so he passed out and no one bothers to wake him up because no one notices how fucked up Lee Sungyeol was, and to those who have, they already given up. That was the other thing he liked about Sungjong—he never gave up, and one of these days, Sungjong will be the one to convince him to stop smoking.The thing is, Lee Sungyeol hates the taste of tobacco.   Sungjong waits for him by the gates, Sungyeol taking all the time in the world to get there. “Hurry up, mom’s coming home today.” He wonders why she even bothers to pretend to care for them, like she wasn’t the one who abandoned them in the first place. Sungjong tugs on his shirt, pulling him towards their car. The chauffeur already has the door open and Sungjong slides in easy enough.Their mother had abandoned them when they were young, too obsessed with her acting career to properly take care of them, and that’s probably why they’re so messed up. But Sungyeol knows it’s only the tip of the iceberg. They were given up for adoption and a pair of nice old people adopted them, unable to have another son since theirs did in some terrible motorcycle accident.They lived with then for quite a few years, growing up normally, until the two suddenly decided they couldn’t raise them anymore. They were put back in the system and this time, they weren’t as lucky. Their new mother had been a nice lady, but her ex-husband was a drunk and still had the key to her home, no matter how often they told her to change the lock, she wouldn’t because she still loved him and believed he loved her.Sungyeol had remembered the man groping Sungjong, touching him because Sungjong looked so feminine, so much like their mother. Sungyeol had hated that man so much, hated him from the bottom of his heart. Sungyeol never knew why Sungjong was so afraid of eating, because he had gone to a doctor’s appointment one day and when he came home, Sungjong was cowering in the kitchen, broken plates covered the ground, shattered pieces ebbed in his skin, giving him a large scare up his thighs.If Sungyeol had to guess, he would think whatever happened to him happened that very day. Sungjong fell asleep crying that night, and Sungyeol knows enough to keep him from asking what’s wrong. They lived there a few more weeks until their mother suddenly pranced through the door, telling them that everything was okay (too late for that) and that they’ll live a carefree and comfortable life from now on. The damage had been done, however, and there’s no use crying over spilled milk, Sungyeol finds.So, here they are now, attending a private school, having a driver driving them everywhere, living life with fine clothing and all their needs attended to. Sungyeol hates this easy life, and knows Sungjong hates it just as much. The media is always watching their mother, which means they’re always watching them as well. Sungyeol and Sungjong had been naturals, smiling fake smiles for the camera always pointed in their direction, speaking politely and humorously, appearing on national television on New Year to great the elders and their mother’s fans.It was all sickeningly sweet, the way she acts as if she treasures them. Sungyeol sometimes let his act slip on camera and he’s making a snide comment to one of the other equally as fake actress, and he’s being scolded while his mother begs the director to cut that part out.Once they got home, Sungjong immediately pulls out his homework and starts solving the problems. Sungyeol just kicks his shoes off carelessly and sprawls himself on the couch, idly staring at Sungjong’s focused face. “How do you even pass class if you act like that?” Sungjong speaks up, eyes narrowing in a dramatic way.“Luck.” Sungyeol simply says, turning away and willing himself to go to sleep. Sungjong wakes him up later, telling him to go to his bed if he wants to sleep.“What time is it?” He asks groggily, rubbing his eyes.“Six-ish.”“Oh, dinner time,” Sungyeol notices how Sungjong’s body tenses, how the easy smile drops, and his face hardens. Typical, really, Sungyeol doesn’t know how Sungjong can keep this happy act up.“I already ate.” Sungjong quickly retreats to his room before Sungyeol could say anything else, and Sungyeol doesn’t eat anything either. He had been feeling sick lately, his appetite completely gone. He instead grabs a beer from his mother’s mini fridge in her room. She never notices if he takes one, or two, or all of them. She wouldn’t care if she found out anyway, maybe she’ll act worried, but she won’t insist.It feels weird going down his throat, he hates the way it bubbles, and if it weren’t for the reporters watching his every move, he’d go out and buy his own beer. For now, he’s stuck with this, and it’s alcohol, so he shouldn’t care, right?Lee Sungyeol dislikes all types of alcohol beverages.  There was a boy on the roof when Sungyeol gets up there, lying sprawled on the ground, expensive camera strapped around his neck. Sungyeol walks to his side of the roof leisurely, not sure the boy even knows he’s there. Sungyeol doesn’t mind though, it’s not like he claimed this roof as his. He had his tray in one hand, picking at the rice and the expensive side dishes. The boy finally looks up and catches Sungyeol’s gaze.Sungyeol has never seen eyes so dark in his life, and he can tell he’s just like Sungjong and him. The boy doesn’t say anything, but continues his impromptu staring contest with Sungyeol. Sungyeol’s head tilt to the side, questioningly, and the boy’s eyes flicker in that direction. He reminds Sungyeol of a cat, trained on some poor lesser species.The boy suddenly sits up, back now towards Sungyeol, and stretches his hands. His sleeves ride up, and it’s not like Sungyeol was that far away that he couldn’t see the obvious red lines that litter his wrist. Sungyeol watches the boy until he disappears into the building, heading back to class it seems. Sungyeol shrugs and continues to eat his lunch, not really caring about the other’s sudden appearance and disappearance.Once he was done picking apart his meal, he pulled out his cigarettes from their hiding places. He lit one with the lighter he keeps handy and sucks in a deep breath. His throat is filled with smoke and it’s a familiar feeling, a safe feeling, and he breathes out gray smoke and sees gray smoke and everything is hazy—everything is gray. It’s in that moment where there is no light or dark, no good or bad, but just Sungyeol as Sungyeol wants to be, naked and free of all worldly misconceptions and societal laws. He feels the sun on his skin, the warm air collecting around his body, the sweet nicotine resting on his tongue.Sungyeol looks over the edge of the roof, staring onto the ground below, watching the empty courtyard and the rusted front gates. There was a warm feeling bubbling inside of him and he doesn’t know whether he likes or dislikes it. But then it’s all forgotten as Sungjong storms through the door and grabs the cigarette from him, crushing it under his feet before Sungyeol came back into his body.“Don’t smoke.” Sungjong says, eyes glistening with tears and it was never about Sungyeol.“Don’t starve.” Always Sungjong, but Sungyeol likes feeling invisible.  His roof was now occupied by a new tenant, the boy who is always there before he is. Sungyeol doesn’t try talking to him, just observing him quietly tells Sungyeol more about the boy than an introduction would. He found out the boy’s name is Myungsoo, from the student I.D. he had purposely dropped a few days ago. Myungsoo was in the same class as Sungjong, friends with him even.Sungjong had described him as the quiet type, insufferably quiet like Sungyeol. Sungyeol doesn’t know what his quiet was, but Sungjong tells him he has an air to him that spells out answers without him actually having to do much at all. Sungyeol doesn’t think he’s like that at all. Quiet just doesn’t suit him, doesn’t roll off his tongue the way invisible does, doesn’t make his heart stop and flutter—doesn’t fit. Another day on the roof means another day staring at the back of Myungsoo’s head, or directly into his eyes in some cases, all the while watching as clouds pass and nibbling at his lunch, quietly smoking a cigarette or two, depending on how bad his mood was.Sungyeol doesn’t stare at Myungsoo when he walks up to the roof, doesn’t glance at him, balancing his tray with one hand while reaching for his lighter with the other. He sets the tray down and flicks the cap open, burrowing around for his pack of cigarettes. He taps on it until one of the cigarette butt pokes out, grabbing it with two fingers and simultaneously bringing flames to life. Myungsoo glances over his shoulder when he hears Sungyeol uncap the lighter, the clink of metal signaling there was another person on the roof.It was dark today, the clouds an ominous gray, but Sungyeol thinks he likes this weather best of all. Humid air and swirling winds, bringing heat and dust from every corner of the world, followed by little drops of water, pouring if Sungyeol were lucky enough.A cigarette in the rain always calms his nerves, always soothes the pain. Sungyeol doesn’t think of anything else and doesn’t need to because it hurts to think. Instead of thinking, which he learns is hard, he doesn’t. It just stops and his mind is blank and hazy and he loves the way the cigarette erases all the traces of human existence. If you think about it, human beings are shitty little creatures, evil and greedy and overestimating their importance in a world that doesn’t give a flying fuck.Myungsoo turns his body and today it’s him observing Sungyeol, not the other way around. Myungsoo mouths silent syllable, and even if Sungyeol is lost in the smoke, he still understands what Myungsoo had asked. He just doesn’t have an answer for it. “Why is the world filled with people like us?” Sungyeol inhales in death and exhales out death, sees gray and feels grey.Little drops of water splash onto his untouched food and for a minute, Sungyeol is just like Sungjong, messed up beyond repair. But Sungjong is broken, and Sungyeol is cracked, there is a difference, a thin line that separates the two subgenre of mental instability.Things were black and white to all of those who still had hope, to those whose cracks could still be filled and replaced. For those who were on the brink of madness, they see gray. For those who are already gone, they see color, and that’s the most evil thing of all.Sungyeol walks away, tossing the cigarette on the ground carelessly, his tray balanced in one hand. He walks pass Myungsoo without looking at him, but his heart speeds a bit and he starts to see fifty shades of bright and he’s lost. For a minute, flashes of Sungjong’s crying faces invade his mind, but then it’s gone and Myungsoo has his hand tugging on the bottom of Sungyeol’s shirt, eyes pleading silently. Do you remember me? His eyes asked.“No.” It kills Sungyeol, and although Sungyeol is as good as gone, his body still feels. He jerks away roughly and pretends not to hear the sniffles, pretends that he still sees gray and that it’s raining, not raining pain. There were so many things Sungyeol wishes he could say, but he has no rights. It is times like these that Sungyeol really hates smoking, but desperately needs the nicotine to wash away whatever these insufferable feelings are.“No.” He tells himself again, but it’s too late. He’s fallen.  Sungyeol learns things by just observing. He knows Myungsoo writes with his right hand but his left hand is stronger. Knows that he’s the type to act like everything is fine, to lie to himself and tell himself he’s not messed up. He’s the type to have two personalities, one filled with rage and anguish, the other only barely hanging on to the reality of things, deluded into thinking that after rain, there is always rainbows.Myungsoo takes pictures of clouds, of the ground, of Sungyeol, because Sungyeol knows that he is the worst kind of art around, the broken pieces labeled as abstract, hidden by splashes of colorful paint is the hatred that the artist feels, the sense of being alone.Myungsoo cuts himself every third Tuesday of the month, giving the old wound just enough time to heal before he cuts again, the pain intensified with the old wound still aching and throbbing lightly. He knows that Myungsoo is fascinated by fire and blood, and that he likes burning himself just like Sungyeol likes extinguishing his cigarette with his bare skin. The sting is just wonderful, almost as good as the gray haze he finds himself in.Myungsoo knows a lot about Sungyeol too, the fact that he’s in love with Myungsoo is given. Sungyeol also is messed up, some kind of childhood trauma or chemical imbalance, as the world would label it, but Myungsoo knows it just feels good.Sungyeol’s skin is white, so unmarred if Myungsoo overlooks the burn marks littering Sungyeol’s left arm. Myungsoo would love to cut that skin, make Sungyeol writhe in pleasure and pain, carving marks and marking him. Myungsoo loves the thought of that, but now is not the time. Sungyeol loves him, and Myungsoo thinks he might like Sungyeol too, but it’s not the right time. Sungyeol is the type to wait for things to ripen and realize a second too late how rotten it already is.That’s the beauty of things though, and the way Sungyeol thinks he can run away from fate is cute. They’ve never had a real conversation before, not with actual words. But they say body language and eye contact is all the real communicating you’d need to do. Myungsoo doesn’t miss the way Sungyeol’s pupil dilate when he stares at Myungsoo, or the way his hand mindlessly trace the place on his wrist where all Myungsoo’s scars would be. He wants it too.Myungsoo also knows that Sungjong is Sungyeol’s brother, and that their mother is just as famous as his father is rich. Myungsoo knows they’ve been put in the system for a long time, until just a few years ago according to Sungjong who never fails to share.Sungjong is an anorexic if Myungsoo is correct, bones sticking out from under his skin, an ugly type of beauty which he can relate to. His fascination with blades and death had always been shunned, always misunderstood. Myungsoo had been tired of living a life where he couldn’t feel, where he couldn’t breathe, where all he is was a hollow pretense. Myungsoo had tried desperately to understand why people just loved to act normal when all of them were already damned to hell with their careless actions and ignorance to the beauty of pain.Sure, Myungsoo wasn’t normal, or even normally weird. Sure he didn’t fit in with the crowd that was deemed perfect by society, and he doesn’t honestly care. If it weren’t for the constant disapproving looks from the people whom he’s shared his secret with, he’d be fine. It’s tiring to try so hard to act happy when there wasn’t anything to be happy about.Myungsoo feels the blood running dry in his vein, feels it surging weakly throughout his empty body, and feels the coldness it brings, not the warmth that keeps him alive (that has long since disappeared). With a perfected cheap smile, he makes his eyes twinkle with what he presumes to be happiness and he feels disgusted. A blank look suits his face more, and even if he somehow manages for the smile to reach his eyes, it never does quite reach his heart.There was no such thing as joy in Kim Myungsoo’s life, for all the seventeen years he’s been alive (one more and he’ll be gone, he promises).  Sungjong looks up from the book he was reading, bright smile on his cherry lips. Sungyeol sluggishly moved into the room, shoulders slumped with fatigue, heart still skipping beats.“Your face is going to rip if you smile any wider.” Sungyeol makes sure Sungjong knows he’s appreciated. Sungjong wouldn’t have kind words anyway, kind words don’t mean as much as silent expressions of gratitude.“You like him.” Sungjong says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Sungjong and he share one thing—a shit eating grin, as kind netizens have put it.“No.”It was a Saturday and he didn’t go see Myungsoo, he didn’t. But first you’d have to convince Sungjong that he was actually a girl before he would believe it, and though the prior wouldn’t be much of a surprise, Sungjong’s grin wouldn’t go away.“This is a first.”“There are first times for everything.” Sungjong looks so lost under the baggy sweater he’s wearing, but comfortable.“Oh,” just when Sungyeol thought Sungjong’s grin couldn’t get any wider, it does. Sungjong seems so proud, so happy; it would’ve almost fooled Sungyeol. There was something bubbling at the bottom of his stomach and it feels so uncomfortable, he’s almost sure his entire face is burning off, not that he wouldn’t enjoy that more than this. “You’re blushing!” Sungjong giggles and it’s been so long since Sungjong seemed happy, so long since they’ve shared a genuine moment like this. It reminds Sungyeol of the love they share and how it couldn’t ever break, even if their spirits were already broken.“I am not.” Sungyeol flops onto Sungjong’s bed face buried into one of Sungjong’s many pillows. He was sure his ears were burning off, too.Sungjong continues to giggle, thin frame shaking almost violently with his small fits of laughter. “I’m glad,” he sounds relieved, and Sungyeol knows Sungjong had never been good at reading people. He doesn’t know what will happen soon, doesn’t know that this relationship won’t last. Sungyeol knows it too well, the intent so clear in Myungsoo’s eyes. Myungsoo had been the first person who Sungyeol had understood completely, his every action justified without even trying to be forgiven, not like Myungsoo cares for approval. Maybe he does care for Sungyeol’s approval, but he knows he already has it, he has had it since the first time they’ve stared at each other, completely involved with each other’s inaudible words.Sungyeol doesn’t say anything in return, doesn’t have to, because Sungjong is reading his books again, laughter dying down in his throat, and maybe Sungyeol was relieved too. His hand was on top of Sungjong’s cold ones, intertwining, expressing something words cannot. What they’ve been through, they’ve been through together, and that’s so much more than Sungyeol could ever ask for.For the first time in his life, Sungyeol forgets how many pieces his heart had shattered in, and felt whole. Sungjong’s hands were small and bony, his fingers short, unlike Sungyeol’s long ones, and they’re so uneven. Sungjong’s hand was ice cold and Sungyeol’s were lukewarm, not hot, not anything, just warm.Sungjong lets Sungyeol sleep there that night, hands clasped together, just like when they were young and wouldn’t allow anyone inside their bubble. It was always them together and it was Sungyeol who was so scared of letting Sungjong off on his own, the world is dangerous and they’ve both experienced the dangers first handed.Sleep came easy, it always had, and he dreams something warm and fuzzy, but doesn’t remember it the next morning. He just feels relieved, and Sungjong’s smile makes his heart feel warm, in a different way than Myungsoo does.It feels…nice.  They never talk when they go out together, they just simply stare and occasionally hold hands. Myungsoo’s hands were like Sungjong’s, small and his palm flat, but they fit a lot easier than Sungjong’s does. Myungsoo is cuddly, always present in what should be Sungyeol’s personal bubble. He doesn’t mind.Sometimes, they sit on the roof and Sungyeol would absently trace the scars on Myungsoo wrists and Myungsoo would sigh contentedly, pushing his body closer to Sungyeol’s, saying yes, the pain feels great. Myungsoo doesn’t have many words, but that’s okay because they really have nothing to talk about anyway. They weren’t normal, they never were, and Sungyeol doesn’t expect them to do anything normal couples would do. Myungsoo isn’t that much shorter than Sungyeol, but it’s nice that he has to be on his tippy toes to kiss Sungyeol.Their first kiss, cliché as it was, had been on the roof. Myungsoo had been taking pictures of Sungyeol, who was smoking. “What does it taste like?” Myungsoo had asked, and instead of handing the cigarette over to Myungsoo, Sungyeol inhaled deeply and pressed his lips against Myungsoo, exhaling the smoke. Myungsoo scrunches up his nose and shakes his head, saying he doesn’t like it. Sungyeol doesn’t like it either, but he never does quite tell Myungsoo that.It was the same with their first time. He was at Myungsoo’s house and no one was home. Sungyeol had asked how it felt to cut, and Myungsoo tugged him into the bathroom, filing the tub and stripping himself. He had invited Sungyeol in with a kiss and there was an assortment of blades and razors hidden in the cabinet. Sungyeol pointed at a small razor, and Myungsoo grabs it before stepping into the tub, the water freezing. Sungyeol sat facing Myungsoo, holding out his wrist. Myungsoo drew patterns on his wrist, soothing it comfortingly before the blade cut in, not deep enough to be fatal, but deep enough for bleeding and it felt good. Myungsoo hastily swiped the razor over his own wrist before tugging at Sungyeol to come closer, their kiss intimate and full of secrets. The tub was turning pink, and Sungyeol’s bleeding had stopped some time ago, but it stung and it throbbed and Myungsoo was between his legs, licking and touching and doing magical things with his mouth.It didn’t last long, they were frenzied teenagers touching whatever they could, doing things fastfastfast never slowing down. Sungyeol kissed Myungsoo breathless and then Myungsoo saw white, begging Sungyeol for more and Sungyeol was never one to hold back. Water was everywhere on the bathroom and Myungsoo smiled lazily, telling Sungyeol to carry him to bed. They forget clothing because Myungsoo was touching Sungyeol again, and his skin burned with desire for Myungsoo.They were dripping water everywhere and the sheets were dry and rough against their sensitive skin, but Myungsoo wanted more and Sungyeol was eager to please. It seemed there was never enough of kissing. Sungyeol was straddling Myungsoo, who had been tugging Sungyeol down for another kiss. Sungyeol presses his mouth against the corner of Myungsoo’s lips, spreading pepper kisses down his neck before suddenly grabbing his arm. Sungyeol kisses the fresh wound there and Myungsoo arched his back, toes curling.Myungsoo somehow flips them over and he’s nibbling at Sungyeol earlobes, loving the grunts Sungyeol was giving him. Myungsoo suddenly pauses, lifting his face from Sungyeol’s chest and staring him straight in the eye, a clear message that made Sungyeol’s entire body throb.Myungsoo falls asleep with his face in the crook of Sungyeol’s neck, hands possessively wrapped around Sungyeol’s waist, muscles relaxed and hair still wet. Sungyeol absently traces the new wound on Myungsoo’s wrist, feeling the raised skin of the past cuts. Myungsoo really was perfect, like this, so broken and beautiful and Sungyeol finds himself not caring. Sungyeol wants to stay like this forever.If only things were this simple.  Sungjong looks positively ecstatic that Myungsoo was over at their house, eyes following the latter everywhere he went. Myungsoo tugs at the sleeve of Sungyeol’s shirt and looks at him with raised eyebrows, head tilting towards Sungjong’s direction. Sungyeol ignores the girly squeal Sungjong makes at that gesture. “He’s always like that, don’t worry.”And Sungjong doesn’t even mind having dinner that night, actually sitting at the table instead of hiding in his room. He doesn’t eat very much, just occasionally a small bite, monitoring how many more bites would make him seem normal and not require him to purge.Myungsoo looks at him knowingly.He goes outside to the garden with Sungyeol, jacket pulled tight around his body, shivering at the cool night breeze and he watches the smoke flutter up towards the darkening sky. Sungyeol gives Myungsoo the lighter to play with, watching as he runs his fingers through the flame, moaning when the flame hits the pads of his fingers.Sungyeol hastily extinguish the cigarette on the ground, not caring that he hasn’t smoked all of it yet. He drags Myungsoo upstairs and tries hard to ignore the very suggestive whistle Sungjong gives them and kisses Myungsoo until he thinks he’ll pass out.Myungsoo bites down on Sungyeol’s hands so hard, he breaks skin and this is happening all too fast, but Sungyeol can’t bring himself to slow down.  “Quit smoking,” Myungsoo had said one day, out of the blue. Sungyeol glances at him through his bangs, feeling his heart stop a bit. “Quit smoking,” Myungsoo says, louder and stronger.“No.” Sungyeol tests the grounds, sticks with his defiant attitude because without it, he isn’t much else.“You hate the taste; you hate the trouble you have to go through to get them, so why do you even do it? You’re not even addicted.” Myungsoo looks up at him with pleading eyes. Smoking will kill you, those eyes say, but not before it kills me.Sungyeol continues to suck in breaths of poisoned air, feeling the strange taste it brings and the lungful of smoke he had inhaled. It feels sticky and uncomfortable and fake, but that’s all Sungyeol was.“Stop.” Myungsoo says again before he storms off, Sungyeol not bothering to chase after him. Sungyeol knows exactly what Myungsoo was doing, and he finds it hard to swallow the last puff, but he does it anyway. For Myungsoo, this is for Myungsoo, and Sungyeol knows it’s his last cigarette with Myungsoo.There hadn’t been much change to his life since he stopped smoking, his body reacting strongly to the abrupt halt, but his body doesn’t matter. He doesn’t crave a cigarette at all.Sungyeol doesn’t know why, but he’s surrounded by hypocrites. Sungjong with his eating disorders, still thinking he’s the poster child. Myungsoo with his depression he doesn’t even know about, passing his cutting rituals off as pain feels good. No, pain does not feel good, pain makes you feel alive, and sometimes, the broken ones need the extra reassurance that they’re not just walking corpses. Myungsoo’s problems all but get worse, his eighteenth birthday nearing, and Sungyeol knew all along this was going to happen. The price he paid for small, insignificant romance has cost him more than he expected. For one, he never expected to fall so deeply for Myungsoo.There were things that can’t be described with normal words alone, Sungyeol knows, but there are things that silence will never tell. There are thoughts that are just pictures of things, put together in a crappy mental slideshow that couldn’t be translated into verbs and nouns.But it was good while it lasted—it’s still good. Sungyeol just wonders how long it will last before all hell breaks loose and the pain becomes too much—the emotional pain that makes him feel like a walking corpse, not the good pain that reminds him he’s alive.Sungyeol estimates a few more weeks, a few more days until Sungjong catches on, and about half a week before Myungsoo realizes Sungyeol has known all along.Reading people so easily, understanding them should be a gift, but Sungyeol sees no worth in all this pain.  “I love you.” Myungsoo’s head shoots up, and it was a last minute attempt to stop it, a futile one, because it’s already been set in motion. It had the first time Sungyeol laid eyes on Myungsoo and sparks flew.Myungsoo’s jaws tighten, his fist clenched, and it’s all too soon they share their last kiss, their last intimate session together. Sungyeol takes it slow, hands gliding the planes of Myungsoo’s body, tracing all the scars on his wrist, drinking in the sight of Myungsoo, undone and completely vulnerable, begging for an outcome that won’t happen the way fate has planned it.Sungyeol focuses entirely on Myungsoo that day, hands roaming slowly, kisses soft and gentle, rocking at a slow, almost torturous pace. The things Myungsoo say during his high are some things he won’t be ever to express otherwise. Myungsoo comes shouting Sungyeol’s name, it sounds so good rolling off his tongues, exiting his lips for what could be the final time. “I love you too.” Myungsoo whispers into his ears, bucking and shivering and panting heavy.Myungsoo holds Sungyeol’s hand tightly and falls asleep all too quickly, eyes tired and exhausted, bored with life and with everything it has to offer (disappointed that love wouldn’t bring him the relief he so desperately needed).Sungyeol has the urge to throw up, realizing how sick all of this was and that he has no way of changing it, for it is engraved in his body, etched into his skin, and mixed with his blood. His throat is dry and raw and he doesn’t want to let Myungsoo go.Myungsoo’s eyes flutter open when Sungyeol stirs, mouth opening questioningly. Sungyeol presses a kiss against his temple, running a soothing hand down his back. “You promise, right?”“I promise.” Sungyeol crosses his fingers.  Myungsoo was rushed to the hospital too late, hands soaked with blood, his mother crying, asking a dead body whywhywhy and Sungyeol feels queasy. He had expected this, he had known this would happen, but the cold body before him shows him why he views the world as he does. Why he sees gray.This wasn’t the life he’d chosen, and Sungjong squeezes his hand reassuringly, eyes both comforting and hateful. Myungsoo had reminded him so much of Sungjong, and vice versa. The way Sungjong looks at him was the way Myungsoo had whenever there was something so much more than words could describe.“I’m going outside for air.”“Don’t do anything stupid.” Sungjong doesn’t need to worry, though; Sungyeol wasn’t suicidal, at least not yet. His mouth just feels sour and the smell of hospital was the same smell of death. Sungyeol had imagined this happening thousands of times, images almost vividly realistic.It was chilly outside, the budding leaves still frozen over with frost. Sungyeol goes over to a vendor, popping in a bill and retrieving a pack of cigarettes. He toys with the wrapper until he snaps it off, fingering out one. The lighter rests in the pocket of his pants and he pulls it out, flicking the cap open, the metallic sound familiar and comforting in a situation like this.The chilly early spring wind wisps around him, calling him a liar as they rustle through the dry branches, and Sungyeol takes a deep breath before he lights the cigarette. He stares at it for a long while, just looking at the white and the flame that’s slowly eating it up, ashes falling off by with the gentle tap of Sungyeol’s finger.He walks along the concrete pavement, barely avoiding the cars that drove pass and the stares the people gave him, walking with the dead trees, the barely alive ones.Sungyeol brings the cigarette to his lips, not quite breathing it in, but still the sweet smell of tobacco soothes the ache pounding against his chest. His hands shake and he shoves the cigarette in, inhaling it slowly, relishing the familiar haze it brought his mind to. He sighs, shoulders slumping, with the smoke that he exhales, he says, “I lied,” because he had. Sungyeol would never stop and it had been foolish for Myungsoo to think he could turn Sungyeol around when he couldn’t even bring himself to admit how fucked up he actually was. But Myungsoo had known this would happen, there was the doubt in his eyes, and Sungyeol hadn’t been enough, so neither was Myungsoo.The spring air was cold; his fingers oddly warm despite the chill. He takes another breath, noticing how the world feels so light now, how he doesn’t have to play hero anymore.With the wind against his face and a cigarette in his mouth, Sungyeol finds himself not really caring, because he had been the biggest hypocrite of them all. Smoke dissipates into the sky as it floats up, and Sungyeol dissipates too, into a million smoke trails, and he burns, burns so brightly.The gray haze disappears and he sees how brightly lit Seoul was, how many different colors the light were. In the midst of it all, he was a speckle of silver in the roaring black ocean, in the gray sky, in the white burning flames. It was raining, raining on his face, a common excuse really, but he’s never cried in his life before. The tears rolling down his cheeks are uncomfortable, unfamiliar, and the white furry surrounds his entire body, encasing him like a basket case.“I lied. You died. That’s life.” And it was, it was life as best as life could be to someone so broken.a/n this took way too long to wrap up. anyway thank you sneeze for holding my hand the entire way while i complained about how shitty the flow was and how i can't write angst and how this suddenly became myungyeol because i couldn't bring myself to break yeoljong apart...again. and also, our lovely jason oppar who encouraged me to finish this. thankkyu very much. now that we're done with that, HAVE YOU SEEN THE NEW MV TEASER? CAN WE PLS TALK ABOUT SUNGYEOL'S HAIR BECAUSE I SWEAR THAT IS THE ONE KEY TO SOLVING ALL THE MYSTERIES OF THE WORLD. i can't wait.thank you for reading. and sungyeol's hair. but more importantly sungyeol's hair.