Chapter Text
Wanting to die is one thing, being told to die is another, attempting to do is another as well. The days never seem to end, no matter what kindness the day is to offer him when he’s finally curled up in bed the haunting thoughts of misery only make him writhe in undeniable agony.
He’s forgotten how he first met Soorim. He feels disgustingly regretful for that—of all the things, of all the kindness and spoiling that Soorim has made, how could a pathetic lowlife like him forget how they first met? He feels ugly and resentful for how awful he treats someone who’s done nothing but spoil him rotten. But he’s nothing but a toxic, rotten thing . He knows all too well that he’s leeching off Soorim, leeching off his kindness and easy-go-lucky attitude, leeching off his kindness. He’s never been spoiled ever since his mother passed away, the only thing spoiling now was his personality each passing day.
He’s forgotten how much he’s improved since he last met Jaehoon. He doesn’t recall where things started, maybe it was from when he was assigned to sit next to him in class? No, too far, they’ve been sitting beside each other for a long while and for a long time they’ve not once spoken to each other. He can’t figure out how, or what could have ever made Jaehoon begin to interact with him. He feels guilty, rotten guilty, for having forgotten—he recalls all the times Jaehoon had picked him from his slumps, pushed him to be a little better and though the number on his grades didn’t reach baseline passing there was an improvement to be seen, It felt nice, but now all he feels is being disgusted at himself. He feels like he’s using Jaehoon as a stepping stone for self-acceptance .
He’s nothing but a selfish, manipulative and toxic bag of shit. He had done nothing but feel helpless all this time, leech off the momentary pleasures other people offer to him so freely. He’s done nothing but take everything for granted and at his own convenience that is. It was just right for him to be beaten to shit’s hell each and every day. It was just right for him to cut his wrist almost every other day—he deserved all of it. It was better off that no one ever associated with him and if they were it would be the same kind of relationship as to how his bullies have with him: just Master and Plaything.
— His name is Lee Hoon, referred to as Hooni, and he really wanted to die.
Blood—there’s so much fucking blood, all over the floor and it’s coming from the bathroom. The tiles that were once some dirty blue in color are all red—it’s thick and full, it hasn’t dried—not at all, with the way the water still is running, quickly draining all the blood along with it. There’s so much red in this place—his white shirt is all red.
Lee Hoon, commonly known as Hooni, has successfully committed suicide.
Jaehoon quickly sits up from bed, his body hot with sweat as he immediately kicks the sheets that got his legs all tangled up. The panic makes him suffocate and immediately he pulls his shirt over his head—his body is sticky with sweat and he has a hand over his chest, feeling the loud thundering of his heart as he took in quick and sharp breaths to regain the lost air in his lungs.
“ Shit .”
It was a nightmare, and for so long he’d always had dreamless nights, and to think that for once, the moment he’d finally dreamt and remembered his dream it was a nightmare—and a realistic one at that.
He looks at his hands, they’re shaking badly and he feels his legs thoroughly numb, his back aching and his head throbbing. He grits his teeth—he doesn’t forget how vivid his nightmare was, how the air felt stuffy and how it reeked of garbage and blood, how it almost felt wet under his feet with the way he stepped in and felt Hooni’s blood on the soles of his feet. It almost felt as if it were real, that he was there—at Hooni’s disgusting, pathetic excuse if an apartment. It was disgusting, mortifying.
He takes in slow and deep breaths this time, his hands by his lap as he closes his eyes. Focus, focus, focus… calm yourself — Blood .
His eyes shot wide open and the image from his nightmare crosses his mind, even a moment of closing his eyes was terrifying.
Jaehoon shakes his head, pushes himself out of bed and picks up the blanket he kicked to the floor and neatly folding it back on his bed. He picks up his shirt and proceeds to take a shower.
There were still classes today.
“Well, if there won’t be any new homework, I should treat Hooni to that new dessert shop a few blocks from school…” He mutters to himself as he turns the faucet to the shower on. The nightmare was still bugging him—he knows Hooni was suicidal, but he had hoped the past days and time they’ve spent together had lightened the emotional baggage Hooni had.
A hand balls into a fist as he leans his forehead against the bathroom wall. “Who the fuck am I kidding…” Lighten his emotional baggage? Fucking pathetic.
Jaehoon recalls that Hooni lives in some measly apartment, recalls clearly how there were molds all over the corners of the room, how it was filled with garbage and how it reeked of such a pungent scent, it smelled like a mixture of spices, expired food, sweat, and sickening body odor. It was such a disgusting place, it felt truly relieving whenever he’d finally leave that place and return home. Jaehoon recalls how Hooni was the only one living there, he wonders what happened—why not once he ever saw Hooni’s parents in his house. Did he always live alone?
“Now that I think about it… I never really asked about his family.” He mutters to himself, feeling the warmth of the water on his back. “I never really heard from Soorim about Hooni’s family too, does he know about it? From what I remember Soorim is the son of the landlady that handles that housing building.” His brows furrow and he emits an exasperated sigh as nostrils flare at the thought, “Maybe I should ask Soorim—ah, shit, no, no—that won’t do, I should ask Hooni himself about it...” But was he in any position to ask about it?
Would it help?
Hooni’s a mess, whether in school or outside—all alone in that garbage of an apartment.
Ever since he accidentally saw Hooni cutting himself in the boy’s restroom at school and mistakenly saw that trash bag full of tissues and old bandages filled with blood and a cute noose—it’s never gotten out of his mind, the question, that is, on how many times had Hooni attempted to kill himself and Jaehoon is no fool, he knows that Hooni must have done more than just cutting himself to death and hanging himself. That thought of it makes him feel sick to the stomach, it’s making him want to vomit. What else did Hooni attempt to do just to end his life?
“Shit, this isn’t helping.”
Not to mention yesterday Hooni did say something out of the ordinary.
“H-Hey Hooni! If it’s okay with you, do you want to get something tasty? I’ll treat you.”
Jaehoon could vividly remember that moment, the way his eyes brightened for a split second and it shut close the moment he smiled—it was as if he was desperate for him to look away. It’s almost like a silent plea to stop looking at him.
“Oh…! It’s f-fine… thanks for, um… thinking of m-me...” Then he gave his usually worried and nervous chuckle before turning his heels and continuing to walk.
“Y-Yeah… okay then.” He doesn’t forget how peculiar it felt; yesterday wasn’t anything in particular too exhausting, all the lectures were pretty light and the teachers didn’t hand out any homework or take-home readings. Not to mention the last period dismissed them earlier than usual, it would have been quite a good day to spend time with friends. He wondered if he was only overreacting knowing he was quite the worrywart himself—but he doesn’t forget how pretty badly beaten up Hooni was at school, his bullies don’t usually go that far… maybe Hooni was beaten too bad and he’s feeling sick? Then, perhaps, the best option was to give him some space in the end—have some time to think and rest. It must be hard being beaten up like that. That’s what he thought and he realizes only now how insensitive his thoughts from yesterday were.
He won’t forget what comes after.
“H-Hey… Jaehoon?” Hooni stops his tracks to turn and look back at him, there’s a different air to him now, lighter and almost unlike him—it’s as if everything in his head just got sorted out and he draws his lips into that kind smile, it’s almost too bitter despite how sweet it looked—it had such a bitter taste of melancholy to it. “Thanks, for everything.”
Jaehoon isn’t an idiot—he’s read articles and novels like this over and over again. He remembers how warmth surged all over his body and how he felt his heart drop quiet for a second. There’s cold sweat by his forehead, wanting to clarify the meaning behind it—“What—What did you just...” And Hooni perks back to his usual nervous nature, shoulders tensing and gaze wavering, “A-Ah…! I m-meant… see you tomorrow…!”
Jaehoon is no idiot, but he’d believe he is one right now from how he let him go yesterday just like that.
“Ah, whatever, I’ll see him again later in school, this time I’ll really be by his side after classes.”
It’s hard to be beside someone who looks so miserable. Soorim had always lived a comfortable life—although he wouldn’t say he’s being fed using a silver spoon, he definitely had everything he needed and most of the things he wanted. He was effortlessly acing all his academics, had enough time to spare to go wild and have fun, and had time for himself to play games—he lived a comfortable life and he was happy with it. He loved the comfortable and easy-go-lucky pace he had, no worries and no exact responsibilities— that was until he met Lee Hoon.
That miserable-looking Hyung at apartment B02, he was so small, his physique looked so petite and frail—his skin was so pale and he was full of bandages. He looked so utterly miserable and pitiful. Soorim was never one to judge, but the moment he saw Lee Hoon, all he could think of, his life must suck .
It was a first, really, Soorim had met countless of homeless people—a lot of miserable people all for different reasons: loss of a job, a heartbreak, found out cheating, a divorce, a lost bet, being wrongly accused—there’s many of those around here. Soorim thought, rather than being indifferent to these—maybe there’s a way he could help; a little bit of kindness and cheerfulness here and there wouldn’t be so bad and, besides, it took a good toll on his overall mood. True enough, he was desensitized to seeing this day-to-day miserable pessimism from everyone else, but it doesn’t matter, he wants to be happy and if the people around him were affected positively with his happiness then that’s a good thing.
At least that’s what he thought was enough.
Happiness isn’t enough now. There’s a certain want— safety, comfort, acceptance, a better change —meeting Hooni hyung only made him want to do better, to be kinder and to reach out to him more.
He wonders how many times Hooni might have attempted to hurt himself—did it go far enough to want to kill himself? Soorim never saw, never asked—it was too invasive to ask personal matters like that. All he remembers is seeing those endless bandages by his arms, did he cut ? He’s sure Hooni does, there’s no other way Hooni always had that much bandages. But he never asked about it, didn’t want to ask about it. He’s not sure why he didn’t want to, uncertain if it was out of fear of finding out Hooni’s past or that he’s afraid that whatever he’ll do will never amount to providing the comfort and acceptance that Hooni needs.
“Damn it… whatever, I’ll walk with him to school this morning again.” There’s no use overthinking about it.
The moment he’s slung his bag over his shoulder and was about to leave his room, it dawns upon him that he never really knew much about him—what high school was like for him and all. But he’s already sure that Hooni was an outcast, that people picked and bullied him to no end. There were those kinds of kids in his school too. The dogs of the class, it gets worse on certain days, those poor outcasts get stripped in front of other people and humiliated, spat on and fed with the most disgusting shit. Soorim wonders if that’s the same treatment, or possibly even worse, that Hooni endures every single day in his life.
Maybe he should ask Jaehoon hyung about it…? They were classmates after all, and he was no idiot—he remembers the first time they met, Jaehoon hyung was overprotective of Hooni, it must have been because he had the look of a troublemaker—Soorim doesn’t deny the fact that he looked like a bully. It does make him happy that there was another person who found the initiative to step in Hooni’s life like this. Ah, but it might be the wrong course of action to take—he should ask Hooni himself regarding these personal matters.
He shakes his head, he’ll think about this later—he doesn’t want to spoil his morning and sour the mood with Hooni hyung, he’ll make sure to keep a cool persona while they walk together.
He’s outside, he’s already in front of Hooni’s door, he presses the doorbell, “Hooni hyung! It’s time for school!!” and there’s no response. “Hyung??” He raises a brow, pauses a bit, “C’mon hyung! Wake up, or you’ll be late!” he ponders a bit then repeatedly rings the doorbell.
It’s deathly quiet.
“Hm… that’s odd, and, usually, that would wake him up...” there’s a tone of worry but for the most part perplexity. “Has he gone ahead without me…? Hmm…” He turns his heels. Later then—next time. “Eh, I wanted to go with him today.” Maybe he was just feeling a little restless.
It’s ten minutes to eight-thirty, by then all student should be in their proper seats
Jaehoon looks over at the empty seat beside him.
“ What the hell… where is he…? ” There’s anxiety creeping up in his heart, “ Missing school like this… it isn’t like him. ” Jaehoon sucks in a deep breath, he has to be focused for the first class—
Thanks for everything.
“ ...! ” Eyes shot open, the world feels a little blurry but he can clearly see his classmates, they’re all just sitting down and waiting for the teacher to arrive soon enough. “ No… He wouldn’t... ”
He wants to deny it—deny this ominous gut feeling that had even given him a nightmare.
The door slides open and the teacher arrives—the first class is about to start.
Jaehoon looks over at the empty seat once more.
Hooni might seem to lack any will, lacks any sufficient skill to reach baseline average, but one thing that Haehoon knew was that no matter how cruel the school treated him, Hooni would continue attending classes. It was surprising how Hooni would still attend classes despite his lack of motivation, Jaehoon found some ounce of respect in that and he was glad enough that over the time they’ve spent that Hooni grew to work a little harder and give an extra amount of effort in his studies.
He feels awfully regretful again, maybe he should’ve been a little more persistent yesterday. He used to be pushy to be by Hooni’s side to prevent the other from doing anything reckless or get himself tangled with more bullies—but the time they’ve spent together had gotten him complacent with time and in looking after Hooni, as if expecting that Hooni’s all better and could be left alone already.
But it’s not that easy, he’s understood over time that you can’t just “do it”, or “pick yourself up”, he’s wrong in all those aspects. He already feels embarrassed remembering the words he told Hooni.
Why don’t you just fight back?
It was clearly obvious—it was in plain sight! How much more of an ignorant, entitled fool was he? Even some junior saw through it! Maybe, in the end, Soorim was the one who saw through everything after all.
Bitter. Envy. There’s that feeling again. He feels selfish, it’s almost like he feels like a little kid seeing the two friends he introduced to each other getting closer than he is to either of them. But this situation is different, he neither introduced them to each other nor was he ever close to the both of them individually. He thinks about all the people that admire and respect him, it’s a polite acquaintanceship kind of relationship—just classmate to classmate, he wouldn’t exactly say he has no friends but he doesn’t really have any either, not that it ever crossed his mind he needed those kinds of people so long as he was able to have a good and polite connection with others.
But what is his excuse to justify this feeling?
Maybe it was better if I never saw anything, if I could have pretended I saw nothing.
He inwardly laughs at himself, this wasn’t helping at all.
It’s four-thirty in the afternoon, luckily enough it wasn’t his schedule to clean the classroom. The moment they bid farewell to their last teacher, he immediately cleans his desk and tidies his bag, slinging it over his shoulder as he rushes out of the classroom, quickly pacing to the exit.
The skies are just as gloomy as yesterday, no, maybe even gloomier—the rain is much stronger and he’s lucky enough he brought a sturdier umbrella. His thoughts run back to Hooni. He knows his apartment wasn’t the sturdiest—was his walls leaking again, last time he’s visited, he and Soorim had to help him out fix out the leaks and stop his apartment from being a muddy mess.
“ Something felt off about him yesterday, but to think he would go as far as to skip school… ” Point still stands, Hooni never skipped classes, in fact, despite how frail he looked Jaehoon never witnessed him falling ill with a cold or any of sort. There’s scenario after scenario running in his thoughts, all of which turning at a graver point—it’s making him feel sick in the head, he feels himself wanting to change his direction, run back home—feel safe and pretend he’s never involved himself in this mess.
“ Ugh, I hope I’m wrong about this… ” in the end, he finds himself running faster.
“Jaehoon hyung!”
It’s a familiar voice that breaks his paranoid mantra.
He stops his tracks momentarily but there’s an undeniably irritable feeling— he needs to go, there’s no time for a leisurely small talk. “Huh, oh. It’s you, Soorim.” His heart is feeling tremors up to his throat.
“Lucky running into you here! I’m soaking wet!” And he emits another hearty laugh.
Does this kid never catch a cold? A brow raised at how lightly he was treating his condition, if he doesn’t get himself warmed up and dried soon he’ll end up catching a cold.
“I forgot my umbrella, you see.” He gets himself comfortable under the umbrella, “By the way… aha—did you see Hooni hyung at school today? He wasn’t home.” For a moment, Jaehoon wanted to believe this conversation—the way Soorim spoke—meant there’s a certain anxiety looming in the air.
There’s a cold sweat on his forehead as Jaehoon looks at Soorim’s cheerful expression, “Well, about that… he didn’t come to school today.” He feels dizzy, the pressure of this conversation was worse than having to do an impromptu speech, “Absent without leave, so to speak… so I was just head—”
Jaehoon understands, then, how different he was to Soorim.
Soorim should have known better—he really should have. He’s not some dumb, spoiled brat, he’s far from that. But, true enough, he’s been complacent with everything so far and now he’s feeling dreadfully regretful.
Absent without leave.
Hooni hyung was never like that, if anything, despite the atrocities he faced on a daily basis, he knew Hooni hyung had always found it in himself to still get out of his apartment and go to school. He doesn’t care if he’s going to have to be under the strong rains once more, he couldn’t care any lesser if he’d slip and hurt himself along the way. All he knew was that he had to run back to his apartment—Hooni’s apartment.
He’s well aware of what limits are, and how patience and determination has its limits as well; at some point, humans would lose all their will to live—slowly, slowly, it depletes until they feel utterly serene. It was a sweet taste of eternal rest, so to speak. Soorim is now wondering if this is what they mean when people lose every ounce of hope in them—wonders if this is what they meant that humans have finally chosen for themselves, no longer playing by the strings of fates.
He feels his lungs flaring, there’s an odd sense of breathlessness this time—nothing anywhere similar to a soccer game done well, nothing anywhere similar to a simple game of tag around town with the rest of the troublemakers. He feels it up to his nostrils, the way it burnt with the coldness of the weather, the way his chest felt tight—it’s almost like thorns pricking his esophagus, sandpaper rubbing against the walls of his lungs,
He’s found himself panting heavily in front of Hooni’s apartment.
B02.
It takes a minute or two before Jaehoon hyung finally arrives.
He wonders why he didn’t do anything then.
”D-Did… did you knock yet?” He’s panting just as heavily as he runs up to him.
Soorim takes a rough gulp, it almost hurts his heart, as if he had just swallowed a solid rock. His hand balls into a tight fist as he bangs it against the door.
“Hooni hyung! Are you there ?!” His voice was loud, he’d have to apologize to the neighboring resident if they were ever there. Soorim knows better, yes, but he knows what to prioritize. “Hooni hyung!” The trepidation doesn’t leave, in fact, it swells a lot more. “Please open up…!” He doesn’t stop banging the door, his throat feels tight and his face is warm despite the rain having made his body feel cold.
“Hoon—”
The door opens, creaking slowly—the sound of old metal is unpleasant to the ears.
Soorim and Jaehoon have never felt more relieved to hear such an ugly sound.
“Ah… S-Soorim…? Jaehoon…?” He’s peeking shyly, slightly, from inside. “What… is it?” His voice is softer this time, still a little nervous, but there’s no doubt it’s softer than before.
They think it’s because he might have just gotten out of bed—but that’s impossible, they can’t make any more complacent assumptions. Something was wrong.
“Ah…! Hooni hyung! Jaehoon told me you missed school today!” For a moment, he thinks his voice cracks—forcing the cheerful facade as to not make it evident of his worries, he’s unsure why he wants to hide his assumptions . “Did… something happen…?”
There’s a bit of silence. Hooni’s gaze averts and he looks away from the two of them, simply looking down on his bare feet. “Oh…” there’s a bit of a nervous chuckle and a mix of a sigh as he instinctively pulls the door a little closer. “I just… don’t feel well today…”
“Ahh, so that’s why~” Soorim wants to believe it, his ears perking up, chin tipping upwards and eyes brightening akin to his usual boyish charm—he doesn't want to play pretend, but this is the best shot he could possibly think of. “Can we come in, hyung? Let us cook you some soup~” just a bit more, just let us in. “I’m a pretty good cook, so leave it to—”
“I’m sorry… but could you all just go…?” He doesn’t want to look at them. “I just want some time alone today.”
Soorim thinks he’s right, that what he does will breed happiness—everything he’s done, he’s always believed it could make someone happy and that it would let them be a little vulnerable— rely on him, so to speak— but, this time, he might just be wrong about the course of action he took.
“Ah… r-really? Then…” He doesn’t want to give in, he wants to still be pushy like all he’s ever been to Hooni. But he looks at him, how small and weak Hooni is, how he’s avoiding their gazes and how eager he is to shut the door and curl back into his apartment and all Soorim could think— he looks so pitiful . “... then in that case, get some rest, alright~?” He picks himself up, not wanting his pessimistic thoughts to sour his outward appearance.
The moment Soorim turns his heels he realizes how wrong it was, how wrong he was since the start.
In the end, he was just a kid who had high hopes, too much trust in himself and the people around him.
The door clicks shut, he stops for a moment to look back.
Hooni hyung will be fine. He’ll be fine.
He wants him to be fine.
Friends become irrelevant in the face of death.
Hooni watches the two of them leave, for a moment he wants to call out to them—stay for a little longer, but he’s well aware that it’s simply time to be wasted. Jaehoon looked pretty upset, he must have been worried and was disappointed that he was just staying in to sleep, surely Jaehoon had much work to do—probably a lot more homework piled up. For a moment he dreads homework until he realizes that it won’t matter anymore, whatever that was piled up would just be nothing but a history, a responsibility left ignored.
Eyes shut close and—he looks at them, remembers how sweet each day it tasted like, the feeling of euphoria of having been surrounded by friends. True enough, they were a little different from the usual groups of friends but they nonetheless made a good duo and he had to admit, the three of them together weren't so bad. Each day felt like a gift, a memory wrapped in luxurious wrappers—filled to the brim with many surprises and colorful items.
It felt like a drug, this friendship that is, it’s a little hard to obtain—it almost feels impossible, he’s just cheated his way to get this happiness. He knows he never paid the right price to gain these people in his life. He wonders what he did, perhaps he should have done this cheat a long time ago, maybe then he wouldn’t have been this miserable—ah, who was he kidding, he’ll be just as devastated and miserable to manipulate someone for too long. He hates his very own existence too much to allow himself to take advantage of another.
It’s a little painful when he finally sinks the needle into his skin, piercing through his veins and injecting that sweet drug into his system. It’s a painful sensation but it was truly euphoric—it doesn’t matter if it hurts, the sensual feeling of having involved himself with them was enough to fill his pleasure-driven heart, it was enough to satiate his ugly self-indulgence. But, then, after a while it’ll dawn back to him that it all hurts; the drug will lose its effect and all that’s left is pain, all that’s left is an empty feeling—when it runs out the desperation sinks in to find a way to relieve this hollow feeling.
In the end, it all comes back to the fact that whatever you’ve chosen, you’re left all alone.
Alone to face the bad ending by yourself.
Happiness never mattered, in the end he’d be alone—it was an inevitable outcome. Happiness was just a distraction, prolonging his misery in this world, giving him hope when he should have known right from the start that this hope only dragged his agony longer than it could have been.
Hooni’s realized, then. It was time to accept this dark reality, this horrid, gruesome truth—that he has to let them go.
He looks at them one last time, seeing their back turned—he’s a little guilty he couldn’t see their faces one last time, but it’s fine. It was better that way. They were intelligent people—they’ll see right through him if he looks right through their eyes. They’ll figure it out, he doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want anyone to interfere with his life anymore, it’s a dead-end already.
The cracking of thunder doesn’t stop the entire night, it rolls and rattles the windows, daring to break and shatter it to the tiniest glass pieces. Sharp raindrops hit against the roof and the windows, pressure loud as if it were ice shattering upon impact.
It was as if the night was crying, screaming—it was a tormenting night, truth to be told.
Back then, these nights would have caught him crying, hiding and shivering under thin and ragged blankets—but now he found himself sitting comfortably next to the window and staring into the distance, looking at how the lightning strikes, breaking the heavens into two.
He thinks how nice it must be to have someone that likes you, someone that wants you—but that’s just the manipulator in him being a narcissistic toxic bag of shit. He thinks how nice it must be for someone to look at him with no ill intent, for someone to want him not because they pity him—but maybe pity is all that he’ll ever have, he doesn’t mind, maybe, he doesn’t know any better.
He only realizes now when Jaehoon had evidently tried to push him away without directly saying it—he feels embarrassed clinging onto him, not picking up a single signal. That’s what he gets for having never had a friend, having never been able to socialize—he only realized all the social cues he’s ignored now.
“Fuck, that’s so embarrassing.” He pulls his knees closer to his chest—the thunder rumbles loudly that the windows shake, this time he doesn’t flinch, only buries his head between his chest and his knees. “No one would want garbage like me—shit, my room is such a fucking mess, how could they want to even stay here.”
It still reeks, the molds are still stuck by the wall and no doubt there’s cockroaches still hiding in the walls—he wonders if there are already rats nesting in the walls and ceilings. He wonders how Jaehoon and Soorim found it in themselves to tolerate this stench and grime. How could they sit in this greasy flooring is something he’ll never learn to comprehend.
Summer is coming to a close.
The storm dies down by the time the sun rises, warmth permeates and the scent of petrichor is faint and there are the sun’s rays that directly hit against the skin.
It was quiet—aside from the chirping of birds and the flipping of pages.
There’s shuffling of notebooks, one placed in the bag and a zipper shut close in one fluid motion.
The room is dreadfully quiet—unlike the previous days where it was filled with cries and self-deprecation, no more the sound of the slashing of skin, sloshing of blood or the fuming of charcoal, no more the sound of boiling water and clinking of plastic cups and other disposable trash.
Step, step, step.
He stands by the doorway, he looks back and sees all his books neatly stacked and tied.
The books Jaehoon had bought for him are all in a different stack, there’s a little note on top of it:
I’m sorry, please sell this and get the money back. I’m sorry I wasted your kindness.
He’s unsure how to repay Soorim’s kindness, though, all that Soorim had given him were mostly food—ah, how can he repay him with that—Soorim bought too many expensive things. Gutting himself and offering his stomach and other innards wouldn't be enough, he’s sure enough his organs would be fourth the original price in the black market.
He can’t do that.
Even if he’s already chosen to die this day, he still has an ounce of sense in him, he can’t traumatize a bright kid like Soorim. That would be selfish of him.
Instead, he places a note on the spare bed where Soorim often slept on:
I’m sorry, I can’t repay you in any way. You can ruin my name even after I’m dead if it makes you feel any better. Feed my corpse to the dogs or have it sold online for necrophiliacs to do me. I’ll be dead anyways. I’m sorry, Soorim. You wasted your time and effort. I can’t find any way to repay you.
He cringes at the note he’s made. It was utterly selfish. But there’s no turning back, rewriting that note would just take too much time and he can’t drag it any longer.
He really wants to die.
He’s standing by the doorway—one glance at his study desk. His final will is neatly placed on top with a notepad on top to keep in place:
Final Will
I, Lee Hoon—
It’s time to go.
Arms go through the loops of the backpack, resting the straps by his shoulders as he slips his feet in his shoes, ties the shoelaces lazily and hand reaching to the doorknob.
The door clicks shut.
“Ah! It’s falling! Eeek—!” There’s a splat on the ground. “Aww, I dropped my ice cream, what a waste!”
He stops his tracks, looking over his shoulders and watches a couple converse.
“Ooh, but what if it’s still safe?” The male tries to counter the situation.
“What are you talking about… if it hits the ground then it’s game over.” The words are simple, the tone is light—simply to put, it meant nothing more.
He turns away and continues walking.
Game over, huh—what a great idea.
It’s the final attempt and this time it’ll be a success.
I’ve been suffering since I was young. An abusive drunkard of a father while my mother died of an illness—
No…! Stop it…! How many times will I repeat those words?
How nice it must be to be dead—to feel nothing, to be at peace. Finally no longer feel the pain. My mother probably has it better, smiling like the way she always did. She must be happy, finally happier dead. I’m envious.
There are no more pages left—this is the end of the story.
How sad that the only novel he’s ever written, the only letters he’s ever poured his heart to are all suicide letters, all final moments.
This time I will succeed…!
Game over.
I want to die. I want to die.
— I want to be happy.
He sees light the moment hand turns the doorknob, finally, a building with an open rooftop.
There’s a weight in his heart suffocating him.
It’s a little early for lunch, just around ten in the morning. Soorim finds himself daydreaming in class—thoughts a little disoriented.
Summer is about to end.
Endings must be sad.
Soorim glances at the board, it was empty a little while ago but now it’s filled with equations—he sees his classmates put on sour looks but he could care less, with a glance back at his notes and the equations on the board he was already able to come up with a decent solution. It was that simple, and so he decides to ignore the rest of the lecture, he can study it again later—he’d prefer it that way, some teachers just suck at teaching—this one, in particular, is the worst.
He inwardly sighs, looking over at the window—once again, he couldn’t walk to school with Hooni hyung, he doesn’t bother to knock him awake, yesterday he looked awful, he must be really sick then. He’ll make sure to drop by his apartment after today’s classes—after all, there’s going to be a celebration!
He’s already talked to his mother about it, after all, it’s a simple treat to the residents—a summer sending off celebration!
Surely, Hooni hyung would love it!
Surely.
He doesn’t realize there’s a smile drawn on his lips.
It’s thirty minutes before lunchtime, and another day without Hooni. Jaehoon reflects on his actions yesterday— so much for being determined to change things. In the end, he didn’t utter a single word, it was Soorim who did all the talking. How many times is this feeling of regret going to sink and resurface? It’s a question that runs in circles in his head—he hates the way it disorients his thoughts, hates the way that it has blurred his focus.
But would there have been any difference if he spoke out as well?
Hooni looked like he didn’t want to do anything more with them. He wanted to be alone and so he gets what he wants. Alone.
Had he spoken out, been a little pushier along with Soorim—would they have been able to change Hooni’s mind?
Jaehoon averts his gaze from his finished worksheet, now looking straight in front of the class—the teacher was simply sitting down, monitoring the other students—then there were his classmates, all with a variety of expressions while going through the worksheet.
He wonders what expression Hooni would have made if he were here.
He imagines his frustrated and nervous expression: furrowed brows, scrunched up nose and wide nervous eyes, his lips pressed in a thin line, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as his hands would be trembling while scribbling on the worksheet—his body would be curling in anxiety as if it would make him feel any better that he looked smaller. Jaehoon doesn’t think his imagination is too far from the possible reality—he props his elbow by his table, hand resting in his palm.
He doesn’t realize there’s a bit of a smile on his smile as he’s looking at the empty seat beside him.
“Hey, why do you have so many bandages on?” An innocent inquiry, azure irises gleaming in childish curiosity.
“H-huh?!” Hooni’s shaken to the core, he almost bites his cheek as he was chewing the meat in his mouth as he looks at the child sitting beside him. He tries to find a decent excuse—anything, anything—“Because… I f-fell down…” even if it sounds like a lie.
“Hmm…” The child peers at him closely and Hooni averts his gaze.
Why do children have to notice everything?
Then, another child chimes in, diverting the blonde kid’s attention.
There’s a sense of relief and disappointment that fills Hooni’s heart.
They’re bickering over a piece of meat.
Hooni finds himself dazed while staring at the scene before his eyes unfold.
A cheerful crowd—it was normal, of course it was, normal people feel a sense of happiness when they’re surrounded by people. Hooni thinks he’s felt the same, but he knows better than to acknowledge that—that kind of happiness was all in his head and unlike what he’s experienced, these children feel mutual happiness by coexisting in each other’s lives.
An outcast like me— could never understand happiness.
It’s laughable, really, how every single day he felt he was happy—it’s a lie, it's a lie he’s convinced himself was the truth.
No one could ever find themselves happy with associating with him.
That’s the reality of it.
“Aren’t you coming down, son?”
It feels disgusting to be called a son—it only brings back bad memories. Hooni manages to force a smile, “Ah, I have something to do…” he doesn’t want to look into their eyes.
“Alright then, remember to lock the door afterward!” Ignorance is bliss.
Hooni gives a nod and for a moment his eyes meet with that blonde kid who looks at him as if peering right through his soul.
“Bye mister!” That kid breaks into a cheerful smile before the door clicks shut.
“...” Hooni doesn’t like how things turned out—his head is a mess and the stress builds up into physical pain, his head is throbbing on the sides and he can’t help but want to fall asleep and hope it goes away.
He stands by the railing, placing his bag on the floor as he unzips it, picking up a green notebook and flipping the pages—scanning through the leaves one last time.
“Rope… coal—ahaha… there was that too.” He’s a little embarrassed with some of the attempts he did, they were truly ridiculous. “All those horrible memories…” He can’t comprehend how he’s able to live the next day knowing that the day before he had just attempted to die.
He feels disoriented—maybe it was because of that barbeque lunch he had a while ago. He feels unsafe, guilty, hateful, desperate—it’s faint but they’re there—all bubbling in his heart. He doesn’t want to acknowledge it, doesn’t want to know that it exists or else today will be another failure. He doesn’t want to hesitate anymore.
Slowly he goes over the fence, standing by the ledge and arms hooked on the fence as he gazes down—the building isn’t the highest but the moment has made him believe this is tall enough—the ground feels so far away and everything is a blur.
I’m going to jump right here where everyone can see and witness my failure of not being able to keep on living in this world.
Now, just one more step.
He leans forward— Goodbye.
He shuts his eyes close— This shitty world.
His grasp around the fence loosens and the next moment all he feels is the harsh winds against his face.
It’s six in the afternoon, the sun is beginning to set.
It’s twenty minutes after five in the afternoon, Soorim’s picking up boxes of firecrackers and sparklers and placing them at the clear road where the party is going to be made. He’s got his mother’s permission to keep the road clear for the night. He hums in delight as Sana and his brother follow soon after, helping him with the boxes.
“Hey, you know that guy? He looks like he’s coming here.” Sana begins.
Soorim blinks out of his daze and looks ahead, a cheery grin beaming upon youthful features, ”Jaehoon hyung!” He walks up to him, box still in hand, “Hey, hey we’re doing a summer sending off party, help out!” He’s shoving the box to the older male.
Jaehoon unconsciously accepts the box, cold sweat by his forehead as he blinks twice at the suddenness of the situation, “O-Oh, what—I was here to visit Hooni, I didn’t know there was going to be a party.” He fixes his posture, holding the box properly this time.
“Well, it’s sort of a surprise! I didn’t call Hooni hyung out yet, he must be resting and it hasn't started yet anyway—so let’s call him when we’re done setting up! I’m sure Hooni hyung would have fun!”
Jaehoon sees Soorim run to the back, getting a few more boxes. He couldn’t help but feel a little relieved—it seems nice, a sending off party—a final goodbye to this hellish summer. He’s sure Hooni would enjoy this. A smile on his lips as he follows Soorim, “Hey! You didn’t tell me where to put these exactly!”
He hears Soorim shout out a response from meters away, Jaehoon laughs—this is going to be a good day.
It’s six-fifteen in the afternoon.
“Jaehoon hyung! You all good?” Soorim wipes the sweat off his forehead.
Jaehoon stretches his back, looking at the set up fireworks and some barbeque on the side. “Yeah, all set here—I’ll go call Hooni, then.”
“Hey, me too! Sana, and Minhyuk hyung would be looking over the food and stuff anyways!” Soorim follows after Jaehoon.
They’re walking back to the building when they see an ambulance speeding across the street. They pause their tracks and look at where the ambulance sped away, there’s an unsettling feeling—but it was normal, right? The ambulance’s sirens always induced anxiety with how loud and fast it blared and echoed.
“Hey, come on —” Jaehoon tries to snap Soorim out of his daze.
“A-Ah… yeah, it’s just been a while since I saw one…” he turns his head and they continue, but their attention is caught again when they hear two girls gossiping.
“Hey, did you hear? A boy committed suicide!”
“What?”
“Geez, this is what happens when you take too long in the restroom!” She smacks her friend’s shoulder lightly, “but I was there, I saw it with my own two eyes! He fell from the rooftop of the building—I couldn’t dare to look anymore and I looked away when he was so close to the ground—but I heard it! I heard the impact…” The girl shivers, holding her arms, looking horrified at the memory.
“That must be why the ambulance came… but isn’t it useless—that boy must be dead…”
“Stupid, who’s going to clean that mess up!’
“Ah, you’re r—”
The two girls stop and two boys walk up to them, their faces pale and eyes wide.
“Hey… what—can you tell me about this… and where—” the kid with blonde hair spoke, his voice was breaking.
The girls exchange glances, they swallow a nervous gulp, one of them spoke, “A boy, black hair —”
There’s too many in the world that had black hair, it could be anyone.
“He looked a little small and frail—very thin, but I’m not so sure, it was all too quick to judge his physique.”
Many Koreans were thin in structure, it could be anyone.
“He… he had a lot of bandages—I was sure of his, his arms, his cheeks—they had a lot of it.”
Please, please, to any God above—don’t let it be him.
“It happened two streets away…”
They don’t realize it yet, but both of them could care less of the party right now, could care less if Sana is throwing a tantrum at how long they took—they’re running as fast as they could, two streets away—the ambulance sirens are still loud—they’ll just have to follow the sound.
This can’t be real—it’s all just a fantasy, it should be.
Just another awful fantasy.
But it isn’t.
Jaehoon and Soorim are standing a few meters away from the crowd, running short on breath and body covered in sweat, clothes sticking on their skin as eyes were wide, mouth wide open as they began gasping for air to fill their lungs and relieve the tightness in their chest.
“Jaehoon hyung—this—” he turns his back, looking at the male with glasses who looked equally just as horrified as him. There’s a forced smile on his lips—any way to stop him from going crazy at this moment. “This is just a dream, right? Just a dream.”
Jaehoon’s never seen Soorim with this expression, that cheerful, bright young boy who wore piercings, dyed his hair blonde with such tacky hairstyles, wore his uniform improperly—he always had an air of a carefree attitude. “We… we can’t tell—we haven’t—”
“Sir! We were able to find the boy’s belongings on the rooftop—it seems that it is a suicide, sir.” There’s a man that comes out of the building, holding a denim blue backpack.
It looks exactly like Hooni’s backpack, is what Jaehoon thought.
Jaehoon was about to think of a rational way to act until Soorim pushed the people away, squeezing himself through the crowd.
“Excuse me, coming through! Move it!” His voice was breaking, his throat was swelling with a lump so hot in him, he felt it to his head the way it felt like a fire set ablaze and suffocating him, “Please, let me through! That’s my friend—he’s my friend!”
Jaehoon could only watch as some people moved aside—there was a mixture of expressions: some of pity, some of grief, worry, disgust and some of indifference. He's uncertain fo how he's taking the situation in, how he's processing all these mixtures of moments, the bystanders, the officers, Soorim—Hooni.
Soorim looks at the body that’s covered by a thin sheet of hospital covering, he feels his heart pound so loudly it might just jump off his chest, his whole body is shaking and his fingertips grew cold.
“E-Excuse me… sir—is… can I—”
“Boy, you need to calm down—Sir, could you find any identification card in the bag?” The officer walks up to Soorim, holding him by his shoulders.
There’s a moment of silence, the loud blaring of the ambulance and the shuffling of the bag.
“Sir, yes, there is an I.D. card in the bag—”
Another name, another name—
“L—”
“Give me that,” The officer takes the identification card from the other man’s hand, “Kid, do you know this boy?” he shows it to Soorim without showing it to the crowd behind.
“I—Hooni… hyung…” He’s unsure how to react, the logic in his thoughts have all stopped and for all he cares his body began to terribly shake, the strength in his legs giving up as he falls on his knees, “Sir, sir—it can’t—” the shock renders him immobile and lethargic, his body growing heavy and relying solely on someone else’s support. He doesn’t think he can handle it any longer. His pleas come in a muted cry, a muted plea for help.
But the look on the officer’s face is just as hurtful and truthful as it can be.
Lee Hoon, seventeen years old and a high school student.
Today his body was found having fallen off the top of a building, his identity was confirmed when his belongings were left on the rooftop.
It’s six-forty in the afternoon.
The sun is setting.
The summer is ending.
A life had fallen along with this season.