𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 5 times Yujin realized family didn't have to mean blood.
Yujin is eight years old, and deep down, he thinks he's going to throw up. At least, he's actively trying not to.
At home - his new home, he has to remind himself, far from Incheon -, his parents are busy unpacking everything, like their move to Seoul is permanent. And it probably is, but Yujin is not sure yet, because he's not entirely sure what permanent means. What he does know, though, is that his parents sent him away to the park in the neighbourhood, encouraging him to make friends with the other kids in the neighbourhood.
Deep down, he knows it's because he might just break way too many glasses.
This is why he's there, standing alone in the park, feeling like the world is about to crush him in thirty seconds tops, and feeling like he should go home now. Yujin is not good at making friends - never really was, not with his clumsiness, and his stutters. He also saw three different people today, and even if the concept of social battery is quite foreign to him, he's pretty sure his is drained.
But he doesn't want to disappoint his parents by not trying.
One toboggan ride, and he goes back home, he tells himself. And he's polite with it, too. Waits patiently until it's his turn on it, even let two boys go before him with a quick bow of his head, and delicately sits on it, finally, when it's his turn.
What is not delicate, however, is the way Yujin absolutely fly out of the ride. Poor boy feels like defying gravity, until Newton's third law catches right back at him, forcing him to fall face flat, his forehead making a soft noise when colliding with the malleable ground of the playground. The first thing he can feel is blood - he's pretty sure it's in his mouth, and it sends him in a fit of panic, quickly counterweighted by his shame.
Two hours in his new neighbourhood, and he's already a mess.
- Shoot, you can really fly ! yells a kid, and Yujiin really doesn't want to look at him, not ready to face the mockery on his face.
He'd like to die, now, thank you very much.
The other kid doesn't give him a choice, however, when he grabs him by his shoulders and forces him to stand up. He's tall, but probably of the same age as him, and while he winces visibly at the blood covering his chin, there are stars in his eyes.
-D'you think you can teach me?
-That was SO cool ! I wanna do it too ! We might have to work on the landing part tho, it looked painful !
The other boy - Minseok, he will eventually learn - seems ecstatic at the idea of imitating Yujin's failure, and as naturally as an eight year old can, he slips his hand in Yujin's one, pulling him back to the toboggan, adamant on riding with him.
He never let go of his hand for the entire afternoon. Nor for the twenty years after that.
Yujin's twenty-two and he's been on the verge of panic attacks for weeks now.
He's been living with his two best friends for four years now, best time of his life so far - and yet, Seoul's cruel and unforgivable, and really wants to mess with his imaginary plans for the rest of his life. In other words, the rent is getting a bit too high for the three of them, and they've been pulling their hair at trying to find a solution.
There's only so much three young boys can do to fight back the cruel rise of the cost of life, and even their extra hours don't seem to be enough; Yujin's starting to get a bit desperate, now. He's honestly less worried about being thrown out of his flat than being separated from the boys.
Except, it's exactly what's waiting for them.
-I mean, it might be a good thing, says Hyonu, looking quite detached, despite the way his lips are curled in a small smile.
The three of them are having an emergency meeting in the living room - the third one this week - and while Minseok is slowly nursing his beer, sprawled on the couch, Hyonu and Yujin look less casual, sitting on their respective chairs. At least Yujin is. If anything, he hasn't touched his beer yet, has been the whole time poking and probing at the skin surrounding his nails - and he's pretty sure his dentist is going to be mad at him, considering the way he keeps clenching his jaw and accidentally grinding his teeth.
-What is? asks the musician, with his eyes slightly hooded.
-To move out, answers Hyonu with a shrug. Finally getting my independence without you two around me to bother me about my love life.
-Lack of love life, you mean, retorts Minseok.
The silence is loud, at least coming from Yujin. Hyonu wants to leave. And the clumsy boy doesn't knox what to do with that infomation - all he can feel his the waterfalls about to go down to work, with the way the tears appears in his eyes, and finally he rises to his feet, nodding slightly.
He does not have the physical ability to articulate other words - so he does the only logical thing he can at this point. Flees straight to his room, closes the door behind him - the moment his head touches his pillow, he's bawling like a baby. He cannot fathom the idea of the boys leaving him. He cannot imagine a world where he's not awoken by Minseok's loud snores and Hyonu's fidgeting with the coffee machine.
It's not too long before the door open, and somebody sits on his bed.
-No, answers the boy, his head turned towards the pillow so he doesn't have to face the humiliation that yes, he is indeed crying.
A sigh, and then Hyonu lies on the bed next to him, takes him in his arms despite his obvious distate for skinship.
-You know I was joking, right?
-You want to leave us, argued simply back Yujin, as if the words hold all of the truth of the world.
-Be serious. You'd die without me.
-Can't leave you behind, now, can I?
-I'm crying on your fancy sweater, right now.
-And I'm not leaving, am I?
Hyonu, indeed, didn't leave. Not now. Not ever. And he didn't even bother to mention it ever again.
Yujin's twenty-three, it's the end of the year, and they found a solution to their rent issue in the person of Chanwoo, a cute boy now living with them. The boy is stupidly obsessed with his plants and his goldfish, but for the most part, he helps a lot, and he keeps to himself. He's quieter than Minseok which, according to Hyonu, is always an added bonus.
But Yujin sees it, sometimes. The way he keeps himself from intervening in their discussions, like he doesn't have the right to, or like something keeps him from engaging with them on a very personal level.
And Yujin takes deep offense in that. He's grown into a less introvert boy, a warm one at that, and yet all of his efforts seem pointless.
It changes after a very specific weekend. Chanwoo seems more alarmed, is packing desperately in a way to get out of the flat as fast as possible, and Yujin is having none of that. Minseok is out performing in a bar, and Hyonu is God knows where to do God knows what, but if he has to stop Chanwoo by himself, standing in front of the door, he will.
-I just need to go back home, urges Chanwoo, the traces of tears obvious on his face.
-You're in no state to drive, argued the boy, his back against the front door.
-Yujin, please, I need to go.
-It'd very irresponsible of me to let you go like that, you know?
-My grandma is dead, finally answers Chanwoo in a plea, voice cracking and all.
Yujin doesn't fight back, this time. Instead, he's the one sat silently behind the wheel, doing the two hours and half ride to Iksan, while Chanwoo is crying his heart out in the passenger seat.
The boys don't take long to meet them - soon enough, they're all standing at Chanwoo's grandmother's funeral, hands on his shoulders as a silent way to help him carry his burden and his grief. They're together, too, when Chanwoo needs to sort his grandmother's belonging in her house, sharing laughters, and memories, too.
Soon enough, Hyonu passes out in Chanwoo's old bed, Minseok too, on the carpet in his bedroom, and only Chanwoo and Yujin remains. The latter had tried his bestest to keep his clumsiness at bay, while he's drying the dishes, when he heard the sound of Chanwoo's footsteps joining him in the kitchen.
-Thank you, finally whispers the younger one.
Yujin doesn't answer. He just dries his hands on his own pants, before turning towards Chanwoo, embracing him fully in his arms, just to let him breathe a little. He was one of them, now. And Yujin wasn't the kind of man to let his brother drown by himself.
Yujin is twenty-six, and he has been going to the café down the street for a while now, for once having found a place of happiness, something that lighten his shoulders.
He might argued that he's less introverted than he used to be, truth is, he still absolutely struggles to make friends. Outside of the boys, his social life is severely lacking, and while he does not complain about it per say, he does feel, sometimes, that he's not the one people notice.
He's not as cool as Hyonu. He's not as charismatic as Minseok. He's not as gentle as Chanwoo. He's just Yujin - and that's somehow enough to make him stand in the back of his own life.
The café is quite empty by the time Yujin reaches it. An old couple is sat near the window, a teenage girl is working near the counter, and nobody is in line, despite Mingyu waiting on the other side of said counter with his charming smile.
Yujin simply nodded before paying - as usual means he gets to sit at his favourite table before Mingyu calls his name again. Except he's barely sat when he hears the distinctive voice of the pink haired man yelling at someone in the back.
-Yoo, where did we put the special Yujin cup?
As much as he's curious about the "special Yujin cup", he's also heavily mortified that something like that exist. What the fuck would be a special Yujin cup? Poor boy is three seconds away from a mental breakdown, his face in his hands, when he hears foorsteps nearing his table, and a glass being pushed in front of him.
In appearance, there's nothing special about the cup - except, upon inspection, Yujiun realizes the cup is not in glass, but in plastic. It does look fancy, that's for sure, but it's solid enough not to shatter if it falls on the ground.
-How many mugs have I broken for you to have a special cup? Am I that much of a bother?
Yoori, the owner of the café and the one who brought him his coffee, just laughed softly while shaking her head. Small habit of his, Yujin pushes the seat next to him so she can sit for a moment next to him.
-It's not the reason why we have a special mug for you.
Yujin frowns - sure, his track record of breaking mugs matches the need of a more solid one, and he's not entirely sure to see her point.
-Everytime you break a cup, you insist on cleaning it. Everytime you clean it, you cut yourself. Even if you don't say anything. Your hands are getting a little bit tired, I guess. Of the scars.
It's almost a reflex, the way he looks back down at his hands where, indeed, small scars are littered absolutely everywhere, from his fingers to the palm of his hands.
She smiles, just like that. Without adding another word, she just puts her hand on his shoulder, presses it softly one time, before standing up and going back to work.
And Yujin? He feels warm all over, sipping from his special cup, with a smile threatening from making an appearance.
He's noticed. He's here. And he matters.
Yujin is twenty-seven, and he's starting to get acquainted with the tattoo artist working in front of the café.
Sure thing, it's mostly because Haneul is Chanwoo's best friend, but she's also a mom, and she's insanely calming and comforting when it comes to deep crisis.
He doesn't know who to talk to - now that he's a full oin adult, approaching his thirties, he sometimes feel stupid confiding in his best friends, knowing the boys will absolutely baby the hell out of him. So he says nothing about what's troubling him, spends more and more time outside, tries simply to enjoy anything that will get his mind away from the urgent phone calls and the visits of his late grandfather.
That's how he somehow ends up here, in Haneul's tattoo shop. She was about to close when she saw him wandering outside, and there was no word spoken when she brought him inside, offered him a cup of tea, and soothes his back the way a mom would do.
She doesn't ask. Doesn't nag. She just waits.
And finally, Yujin breaks. Spills everything. About his family, about his doubts, about the fact that he'll always feel worthless, because of his bad luck, about how it's tiring to always be the black cat of the group, the one who waits for the universe to fall upon him.
She still hasn't said a thing, when she brings him to her station, quietly. She pulls up his sleeve, and finally looks at him, a small smile on her lips.
There's no questioning that, so he just nods, even through the tears, and she put herself to work, ever so quietly.
An hour later, Yujin ends up with a small ladybug on the inside of his wrist - and he did cry like a baby, mostly out of relief and not pain, like whatever she was doing to him was heavily therapeutic.
-Bad luck is like a storm, she explains, as she wipes off the excess of the ink. Evenually, it passes. You just need to remember you can be lucky too. You're allowed to.
And like a mom, she wipes off his tears before sending him home. That night, he comes home with a light heart, and a permanent memory that no matter how much life sucks, he doesn't have to carry it alone.
