unknownballad | [ archived ] Open RP Post

At first, there's no response from Hayun. There's nothing more than the sound of some shaky breathing, and a soft tapping as Hayun goes back to waking up his phone screen again and again, brightening up the room for roughly two minutes at a time.

"You're probably busy," he says in that same quiet tone, sounding very far away despite the fact that his cell phone is no more than a few inches from his face. What's wrong? He can't really explain that without telling Yohan about the biggest secret he's been keeping. He's lonely and he doesn't want to be. He has no one in the world but he wants someone. How does he tell Yohan that he's been lying to him since the very beginning?

"Just a bad day. I'll be fine."

Meanwhile, Yohan's already tapped the button to put Hayun on speaker so he can clear off the business on his desk and go see the boy. He's obviously in need.

"Darling," Yohan clucks his tongue, chiding himself that it's too soon and their relationship shouldn't really allow for that sort of pet name yet. "Hayun, where are you? If you need me, I'll come."

Every few taps on his phone's screen, Hayun gets close to hitting the 'end call' button. He should just do it. Hang up the phone and let Yohan go about the rest of his day. Set the man free. Don't pile on problems that have nothing to do with him. But he doesn't. He can't actually bring himself to do it though. He doesn't actually want to. He doesn't want to bother Yohan, but... What does he do?

"I'm home." He rolls over onto his other side, his back now toward the phone laying next to him. "It's okay. You don't need to." He so badly wants to accept that offer but feels like refusing it is the right choice.

Home. Whether Hayun knows it or not, Yohan knows exactly where that is. And exactly how long it takes to get there by car at any given time of day. And also... the big lie: that Hayun lives there utterly alone.

While Hayun says he doesn't need to come, it's obvious in the boy's tone that he wants Yohan to be there with him. So, Yohan slips an earbud in so they can continue talking en route. Does he mention that he's going to come over? No. It should be obvious that that's his plan. Outside his office, he waves to Siwoo and points to Hayun's contact information in his phone. Yes, please, take him there.

"There's very little I need to do. Let me come over because I want to." Because he wants to be there for Hayun.

Hayun does want Yohan here. Yohan is the only person he thought of when his day started to turn particularly sour. Not his friends nor their parents who've been kind enough to him over the years. None of his teachers came to mind. Just Yohan. He's the person Hayun wanted to run to and pour his heart out to. But now that things are quiet and he can think about it more clearly, he shouldn't want that. Yohan doesn't need his problems. He wants Yohan here so badly, but doesn't want to burden him. Especially with something he doesn't want to (can't) talk about.

"No one wants to be here." This time, Hayun does hang up the phone.

Yohan is the one who decides which problems will be his business and which won’t be. He’s the one who keeps his affairs quiet and private so Hayun doesn’t worry. Hayun, while he may not know it, doesn’t have that option. As soon as the line goes dead, urgency grips Yohan.

“Siwoo, get the car, now.”

His long-time guard (and friend) knows better than to question him with that particular tone and that worried look in his eyes. There’s really only one thing that ever gets Yohan to worry like that: his boy.

It’s only about fifteen minutes later, thanks to Siwoo’s crazed driving, until Yohan’s at Hayun’s place, knocking insistently on the door. He doesn’t want to make a scene that might leave Hayun in a tough spot trying to explain to his neighbors. But it does take more self-control than Yohan would like to keep from simply kicking the door in or taking it off the hinges to let himself in.

Hayun is slow to get to the door once the knocking starts. He considered not getting up at all, just laying on his grandparents' old bed and listening to the knocking until it eventually stopped. Because it would've stopped. He's almost certain of that. Yohan (because it has to be Yohan, right? The man who's investing too much time and effort into someone like him. The man who he is so glad to have at his door but also who he desperately doesn't want here) would've given up on him if he waited long enough. Wait it out and he'll be alone again, just like he's supposed to be.

It takes some convincing to get up off of the bed and drag himself through the still dark house. Please just leave him alone to his empty life. No, please don't leave. Hayun pulls open the door just enough to allow him to see out, allowing him to keep his blotchy, damp face from view. He doesn't say anything, merely stares at Yohan through the crack in the door. He doesn't trust himself enough to speak and not immediately fall apart.

Wrong. Yohan isn't going anywhere. As soon as Hayun opens the door, Yohan's hand is on it. There's no closing it now. A single glimpse of Hayun through that open sliver makes all his worries come to life. Something's wrong. Hayun needs him. He doesn't regret coming here.

Giving the door a push, he waits only long enough for Hayun to move out of the way to open it fully. And then close it immediately behind him. Without a single word or a beat of hesitation, he sweeps Hayun up in his arms, pulling the boy into a nearly brutal embrace. Sorry Hayun, hope you like being smashed against Yohan's chest, trapped in his arms, all while he runs a hand over that surprisingly soft hair.

"I'm here."

Edited (extra word D:) 2024-10-10 22:55 (UTC)

There's no resistance from Hayun when Yohan starts to push the door open. He simply releases it and takes a step back, sniffling softly as he stares down at the floor. He just waits for whatever Yohan plans to do next. Enter into Hayun's home and then...? Hayun initially freezes when Yohan makes quick work of closing that little bit of distance between them and taking him into his arms. Initially, he isn't sure what to do. This is something that he normally deals with alone. This is something he's had to deal with alone. He clearly needed someone, but he didn't want to involve anyone. He couldn't involve anyone.

And yet, here is Yohan.

Hayun presses his face against Yohan, wrapping his arms around the man's waist as tightly as he can. "You're here." The words are little more than a muffled whisper into Yohan's shirt. He twists his hands in the fabric at Yohan's back, gripping it tightly. "You came."

"I'm here," he repeats, keeping Hayun pulled flush against him. He's there. He came. He'll always come if Hayun calls him. His fingers curl against the back of Hayun's head, cradling it with surprising gentleness when compared to that fierce embrace. This is what he wants to be for Hayun: a strong, supportive presence.

"Tell me what you need. Someone to listen? Advise or solutions? Support?" Whatever Hayun needs in the moment, Yohan will give him.

This is not the kind of thing Hayun expected from Yohan when they first met, when it was decided they'd have some sort of friendly relationship. See, Hayun has what he thought was a very clear view of what being a friend means. He has some friends and he knows they care about him, but they wouldn't drop everything to check on him after some weird phone call. They'd show concern. They'd ask if he was okay. They wouldn't put their lives on hold for him. They wouldn't drop everything and come running. Hayun also doesn't really give them the opportunity. He calls them or texts them just to talk. He doesn't really tell them anything is wrong, though. It's just to fill the crushing silence for a short time. Hell, they don't have his address anyway. He doesn't give it out unless absolutely necessary. He doesn't want people showing up without warning.

Hayun didn't expect Yohan to be the kind of friend who comes running the moment he needs him. This is a man with a life outside of him and properly more responsibilities than Hayun could possibly fathom. And yet here he is.

"I don't want to be alone," he mumbles against Yohan's chest, shoulders shaking as he's overcome by quiet sobs.

Yohan isn't the sort of man who can afford many friends. Betrayal is rampant in his world. Letting people close is a risk. There are precious few for whom Yohan would drop everything and come running. Hayun is one of those few. While Hayun may not realize it (or may think about it after the fact), it isn't just because Yohan's trying to win him over as more than a friend, either. He genuinely cares about the boy's well-being and wants to support it however he can.

"You're not alone now," he assures, smoothing a hand between Hayun's shoulders. And, for now, he'll just stand there, Hayun in his arms, trying to soothe those quiet sobs until the boy indicates where he's like to go. If he wants to sit on the floor or the couch or leave the apartment entirely, Yohan will take his cues from Hayun. "I'm here."

Maybe once Hayun is past this and his head is a little more clear that Yohan does genuinely care about him. Hell, the man offered to send him to college before the subject of friends or lovers ever even came up. Someone like Yohan wouldn't necessarily drop all of his important work and tasks to drive out to the poorer part of the city for some boy he wants, if wanting him was all there was to it.

Regardless of what it is, Hayun is glad he's here. He's glad that Yohan didn't listen when he said he'd be fine. He's glad Yohan ignored him when he said he didn't need to come. He's never been more glad for someone not listening to him.

It's quite some time that Hayun stands there softly sobbing in Yohan's arms. It's not been since before his grandparents passed that he was held like this. He missed this. He needed this. Sometimes he needs to be a child, crying in the arms of a caring adult. In time, Hayun's sobs slow, helped by Yohan's presence. Helped by being held by him. On days like this, Hayun usually spends the rest of the night crying.

"I didn't want you to see me like this, but I needed someone to talk to and you were the only one I could think of," he sobs. "Thank you for being here."

This time, Hayun won't be alone in his sadness. He has Yohan on his side now. Yohan, whose lack of respect for others' boundaries can, on occasion, be beneficial. He simply keeps Hayun pressed close, alternating in rubbings his hands along the boy's back and over his hair. There's nothing to say, his physical presence is all that needs to be said. He's there. He's there when Hayun needs him. He's there because Hayun needs him.

"I won't look," he answers. From anyone else it might sound flippant, but Yohan means it. If Hayun doesn't want to be seen like this, Yohan simply won't look at him until he's ready.

From anyone else, those words might sound flippant, but not from Yohan. From anyone else, Hayun would feel like he's being brushed off, not taken seriously. He would feel like his feelings are less than. But with Yohan, it feels like he said the exact right thing. Hayun doesn't want Yohan to see the emotional mess he's become, so he simply won't look. Being here while giving Hayun privacy, it feels like.

"Close your eyes," he instructs softly between sniffles and around ragged breathing, slipping out of Yohan's comforting, safe embrace. "Keep your eyes closed for now and come with me, please." He slides his hand into Yohan's and starts to lead him further into the dark home. He still hasn't bothered to turn on any lights. Why bother? He's lived here all of his life so he knows it well enough. Besides, it's sometimes easier to convince himself that he's not alone if he can't see how empty this place is.

Hayun is quiet save for the sounds of his anguish as he leads Yohan further into his home, away from the doorway and the streetlights coming in through the windows, carefully around furniture and various items to keep Yohan from walking into anything. It's back into his grandparents' bedroom where he's headed with Yohan. Not only is it his safe space, but it's one of the darkest rooms here, aside from his own. But he doesn't really go in there as much anymore. There, he releases Yohan's hand and takes a seat on the edge of the bed.

"You can open your eyes and take a seat if you'd like."

From anyone else, those words would lack the utter sincerity Yohan feels when he says them. He won't look. They don't need to turn a light on. Yohan can simply let Hayun cling to him and peer over the boy's head the whole time. He really does mean what he says.

"Alright," he agrees, letting his eyes fall closed. "They're closed," he adds, in case Hayun couldn't see them in the dimly lit room. The boy's probably in the dark since the sun went down. His eyes are likely already adjusted. Trust doesn't come easily for Yohan. But with Hayun? Somehow he hardly worries the kid's going to stick a knife in his ribs here and now. He even doubts some villain is laying in wait in the darkened rooms to strike.

It's strange to not think these things. It's strange to simply close his eyes and let Hayun lead him slowly, meticulously by the had through the rooms the boy knows so well. It isn't difficult for Yohan to keep his word. Not once is he tempted to pry open even one eye for a look around.

Only once Hayun stops and tells him it's okay to open his eyes does he do so. Of course he blinks against darkness, his eyes naturally straining to adjust. It's easier, actually, since they were closed. Much easier than the adjustment of coming from a well-light room. More than that, Yohan refrains from trying to take in the room, from looking around and risking breaking his promise inadvertently. Keeping his eyes fixed directly ahead, Yohan turns and plops down beside Hayun, reaching over for his hand in the process.

Hayun thinks nothing of leading the man through his darkened home. He thinks nothing of the trust that it requires to allow yourself to be walked (and with his eyes closed, no less. As if the darkness isn't yet nearly enough) through an unfamiliar place. Were his mind a little more clear, Hayun might realize that a man who travels with bodyguards isn't likely to let just anyone lead him around by the hand in the dark. Then again, were Hayun's mind a little more clear, he might've also noticed that there are no bodyguards here right now. Mr Siwoo is probably waiting outside, but in here? It's just the two of them.

Seeing the hand reaching out for his in the dark, Hayun threads his fingers with Yohan's and slides himself a little closer, wanting to feel the older man's body next to his. A reminder that it's not just him here, that there's another life in this otherwise lifeless home, even if only temporarily. He turns his head to press his face against Yohan's arm. The man always wears such nice clothing. Expensive too, probably. Hayun shouldn't be crying into his shirt. He should stop. He should apologize. But when he opens his mouth to do just that, those aren't the muffled words that come tumbling out before he can even think of stopping them. "I don't have an aunt. I lied about her and I'm sorry but I couldn't tell you that I'm alone. I'm completely alone and it's really, really hard sometimes. My grandparents were all I had left but they died. I did everything I could and I tried so hard to take care of them but I couldn't help and now it's just me. Maybe there's more I could've done but I swear, Yohan, I really did everything I could, it just wasn't enough and I lost them."

In a situation with less gravitas, Yohan might have admitted he knew Hayun didn't have an aunt. He might have gasped and faked utter shock (no he couldn't, he's not that sort). He definitely would've teased the boy about how long he perpetuated his lie. But none of that was right at the moment.

Rather than look at Hayun, Yohan instead tried to focus on their joined hands (now that his eyes were beginning to adjust in the darkness). He squeezed Hayun's fingers between his, listening to each muffled, sobbed word. The shirt didn't matter to him. It will be laundered and as good as new. What's important is Hayun's pain. Hayun letting out that pain, choosing to share it with him.

"You did everything you could," he repeats softly. "That's the most valuable lesson in life, darling. You can work hard and do everything right and still lose. That isn't anything to feel guilt or shame about. As long as you know you did your best, feel sad. Feel pain. But never feel ashamed or blame yourself."

Maybe sometime in the future, Yohan can reveal the fact that he knew all along about Hayun's aunt. Or rather his lack of one. He can gasp and feign shock and tease him about the lie. But not doing it today is clearly the right choice. Not right now. Not when Hayun is falling apart.

Hayun pulls his face away from Yohan's arm and scrubs at his eyes with his free hand, trying to dry them. But he can't stop. The tears just won't stop coming. They slow, but they never quite stop falling. He feels like they'll never stop and he hates it. He hates that Yohan is seeing this side of him. Yohan was never supposed to see this part of his life. He was never meant to see the lonely, depressed boy.

"But why did I have to lose them? I loved them so much. They were my favourite people and now they're just gone and I'll never see them again." Hayun tugs his hand free from Yohan's grasp and moves to lay down on the bed with his back to the older man. "It's hard to not feel like it's all my fault." Even though he was a kid trying to take care of his sick grandparents (he's still a kid) so what could he have possibly done differently?

Yohan gives him the freedom to move away, keeping his promise not to look. He feels Hayun's weight shift, sees his legs on the bed. He gives the boy a moment, listens to what he has to say, to his crying. Maybe he could relate more if he'd lost a beloved family member, too. Yohan knows his father retired and slipped away with is mother in secret. The world at large thinks they're dead, but Yohan knows better. He's even in touch with them once or twice a year.

So it's nothing like what Hayun feels.

After a moment, Yohan stretches out beside him. On his back first, then rolling to spoon against Hayun, to wrap the boy up in his arms. To help him feel less alone.

"There's no answer to why, darling." Everything that lives has to die eventually. That doesn't make it easier for the ones left behind to carry their memories. "But it's not your fault."

It's difficult to relate to situations that you've never before experienced, and quite frankly, Hayun appreciates that Yohan isn't trying to. He doesn't want him to. 'I understand how you feel' or 'I know exactly what you're feeling right now' doesn't help him. It doesn't help anyone. He doesn't want anyone to be able to understand what he's going through because then that means they've gone through it too. It's a little frustrating. He knows it's just people trying to help in their own way (at least it was with his parents. The passing of his grandparents is still largely unknown) but that's not the kind of help Hayun wants. Just be there for him. Like Yohan is.

Hayun lifts his head a little when he feels movement behind him, though doesn't move beyond that to actually discern what it might be. See, his initial assumption is Yohan getting up to leave. Time's up. He's got a real life to get back to. An important man with important things to do and all that. No more spare time for Hayun's tragic backstory. He gets it. He'd probably get up to leave too if he were Yohan. This isn't what he signed up for when he walked up to him after the school function that day.

He's a little surprised when the narrative he's built up in his head doesn't actually match reality, when he feels the bed move and shift behind him where there should be no more movement, when he feels body heat when there should be nothing but cold at his back. And then the way Yohan curls around him, it brings on a fresh wave of tears. "I feels like it was my fault. It all feels like it's my fault." Sometimes he almost wants it to have been his fault, even though he knows deep down it isn't true. Sometimes it feels better to not think of it as an impossible situation, where the outcome wouldn't change no matter what he did or didn't do. Just as often, it feels better reminding himself that he really did all he could.

"...Yohan, can you stay with me tonight?"

That feeling, it's my fault, is something Yohan can empathize with. Every time one of his bodyguards is injured. Every time his father got hurt, he remembers his mother crying and blaming herself. If it was her fault, wasn't it his fault, too? Wasn't his father protecting them from danger? Didn't that make it his fault, too? Of course not, but logic hardly intervenes with feelings.

Yohan tightens his hold on Hayun, curling his legs against the boy. "I can. I will."

Logic really has no place when feelings are involved. The more intense the feelings, the further away the logic. And when the feelings get to be a lot, it's so easy to look at a situation and see all the places where you can fit in personal fault, which much makes the feelings worse, which just means placing more personal blame. Maybe if he checked on his grandparents a little sooner than one night, or if he'd stayed home from school that other day, maybe he would've been able to see their rapid decline. Maybe he couldn't called the hospital and saved them.

"Thank you, Yohan." Hayun grabs a fistful of Yohan's shirt and curls himself into a ball, squeezing his eyes shut tightly. "For a long time, I wanted to go with them. I just didn't want to be alone anymore, and I had no one to talk to about it." Which also meant he had to talk himself out of it in the end. "I didn't want to be here anymore. I didn't want to raise myself and learn how to take care of an entire house on my own." Though the house was his own choice. He kept his grandparents deaths a secret from everyone he could so he could keep living here, so they wouldn't take him away and put him in foster care of something. "It was a lot to deal with on top of them dying and I didn't want to do it anymore."

Hayun can rest assured that Yohan wouldn't share his secret. Nor would he allow Hayun to be taken from his home and put into any sort of system. That's not the reassurance Hayun needs in this moment, though. No. What he needs is to know that right here, right now, he's not alone. He has Yohan.

"No one can replace them in your life, but you're not alone anymore, Hayun. You're not. That you're still here when you didn't want to be makes you very strong. And, selfishly, I'm glad you're here. So I'll be here for you whenever you need someone. Tell me you understand."

Until Hayun is in a place where he's able to process anything other than the reassurance that he isn't alone, he just has to trust that Yohan is the good person he thinks he is and will keep his secrets for him. They're out there now, after all. He can't take them back. He can't just say that he didn't mean it and take it all back. He can't produce grandparents or his fake aunt and say that he really had them all along. It's out there now and there's nothing he can do about it except for hope Yohan understands how important this secret is to him.

"I'm the only person who really remembers them. Dying and taking their memories with me isn't fair to them. They deserve better." Truthfully, he was simply too scared to act on any of his darker thoughts. He was afraid of what it would feel like before he didn't feel anything anymore. He was afraid of it not working and then laying there in pain with no one to help him. His cowardice in that situation is by no means a bad thing, but it definitely doesn't make him feel strong for not doing it.

For a moment, there's silence. Even the soft sounds of Hayun's sniffling have quieted. That short silence is broken, however, by the quiet sound of Hayun's cheek and hair rubbing against fabric as he nods his head against the comforter. "You'll be here whenever I need someone. I understand."

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legit cried writing this! help, i'm too soft D:

:< :< :<

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cw: suicidal ideation

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