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Vermilion

Summary: There’s always a mysterious boy who comes to Jaehwan’s door at the exact same day of each year. They always do the same thing, walk around the neighborhood, and the boy is always wearing that cream colored hat.

Pairing: Keo(Ken/Leo)

Word Count: 3.4K

Read on AO3!

A/N: Oops I’m not good at writing angst but I wanted to write this so bad. This was based on a dream I had and this fic is very symbolic. If you blink, you might miss something that’s integral to the story. So pay attention!

vermilion

n. color of blood; shade resembling such a color

Year 1, April 6th.

His feet pattered against the ground as he set a clear path for his house. Nothing feels right today, he thinks. Nothing feels normal. He shrugs this feeling off, however, when he pushes the button for the crosswalk, awaiting the red to fade into an indicatory green for him to go. Eventually, it does, and the cars don’t hinder his movement as he nears his house.

Jaehwan didn’t have a very exciting life. He walked to school, did his thing, and went home. Home didn’t really hold a special place in his heart either. Everything became a sort of boring routine and he didn’t really take much initiative to change that. Walking down the right side of the sidewalk was only evident in reflecting that Jaehwan had no intention of changing at all, but something eventually was going to change the schedule.

He rounded the corner, adjusting his backpack so the straps weren’t digging into his back. He huffed from the weight of several textbooks, most of which he probably wasn’t going to use during the school year anyway. Most teachers just passed out a worksheet and deemed it good enough. Jaehwan wasn’t complaining, but still, it didn’t really help his overwhelming workload already. He classified carrying his backpack full of brick-like textbooks extracurricular work.

A stark white that contrasted the green of his lawn caught Jaehwan’s eye, and as soon as he had looked, he had caught the eye of a certain stranger outside his home. He blinked a few times to make sure he was actually there, and sure enough, he was. The boy was tall, wearing a sweater the color of roseate, a discrepancy against his milky skin. He raised his head, showing his face under the alabaster of his hat. His gaze was piercing, and Jaehwan took everything he had not to gulp and run away like a screaming little girl on the spot.

Jaehwan hesitantly stepped towards the strange boy standing next to his front door, and upon reaching closer to him, found he was about three centimeters taller than him, with the added height the hat was giving him. Probably a mere two centimeters, Jaehwan notes. Jaehwan is admittedly scared of the boy staring at him from under the brim of his hat that he almost shakes in the Converse he’s wearing. All his fears wash away, however, when the boy offers his hand with a comforting smile that looked as though it was rare whenever someone saw it.

“Let’s go,” he says, nothing more. He’s still holding out his hand, expectant for Jaehwan to take it. He feels a certain comfort in this boy, even if he looks a little blurred around the edges. He’s uncertain, but as soon as his hand lands in the other boy’s, he feels warmth spread throughout his entire body. He’s never felt that way before. He surmises it feels nice.

They walk along the sidewalk; no clear path is determined, and the mysterious boy holding Jaehwan’s hand doesn’t say a word. The atmosphere is comfortable and peaceful, and the only sounds that were heard were the both of their footsteps moving in sync, along with the bluebirds chirping and the toxic chugging of a car engine. Something about it felt like home to Jaehwan, something he’d been waiting for a while, and he wished this moment would carry on forever.

He doesn’t pluck up the courage to ask anything of the boy; he doesn’t feel he has to. Just the grasp of each other’s hands is enough. And eventually, something does change. The boy plucks a clover from the grass, ripping off one singular petal and setting it back on the ground. Jaehwan could have sworn he heard the boy mumbling something, but it was barely audible and completely unintelligible. He figures he doesn’t need to ask.

Jaehwan does have the courage to ask only one thing this first day he’s seen the boy. He feels as though the question is eating away at him, so much so that he doesn’t even notice the query tumble from his lips until the boy swivels his head to lock eyes with Jaehwan. “What’s your name?” The boy turns to the left, peering at Jaehwan. He pauses for a second to ponder if he should answer that, before sending a positively beautiful smile Jaehwan’s way. He feels as though he’ll melt when he hears the boy’s voice.

“Taekwoon. Jung Taekwoon.”

Year 2, April 6th.

Every day since April 6th, Jaehwan had been yearning to see Taekwoon. He would come home from school in a rush, not even caring if cars had hit him. Every time he would come to his door, however, he wouldn’t see the familiar cream diversifying his house's brown. And then, he’d sigh, dragging his feet into the house and feeling absolutely dreadful for the rest of the afternoon. But by the next day, he’d repeat the cycle. He longed for Taekwoon.

It had only been one meeting, and Taekwoon looked as though he was only a mirage, but Jaehwan knew better. Jaehwan knew in his heart that he’d come back. Someday. He didn’t know when, but he had hoped by his birthday he would be graced with Taekwoon on the same day he was last year. He crossed his fingers every night and did everything he could to heighten his good luck.

Somehow, all of those techniques he’d been doing had paid off. Because when he was walking along the sidewalk a year later, Taekwoon was leaning against his house, the same way he had been a year prior. Jaehwan’s face erupted into a gleeful and childish smile, and he neglected his backpack on the sidewalk to run up to Taekwoon. He curiously locked eyes with the boy’s once again and didn’t find that the familiar spark he saw a year ago went out. It was still as mysterious and lively as ever.

“Let’s go,” Taekwoon says, offering his hand in the same way he had before. Jaehwan doesn’t reluctantly take it this time but laces their fingers together almost instantly. Taekwoon’s smile widens at the immediate affection coming from Jaehwan and swings their arms together as they walk down the sidewalk again. And, same as before, Taekwoon picks a clover from the grass and pulls off some petals. This time, however, he tears away two petals instead of the one he did before.

Jaehwan doesn’t question it. He doesn’t find it in his heart that he can.

Instead, he just squeezes Taekwoon’s hand affectionately, causing his eyeballs to nearly pop out of his skull at the sudden intensity of his clutch. After that, though, Jaehwan is rewarded with a light chuckle. One so light that he might not have even heard it in the first place. But he does. And Jaehwan’s face illuminates with a toothy grin, making the crinkles around his eyes appear. Jaehwan hadn’t been happier than when he had been with Taekwoon.

He can’t explain it, but he feels a fondness and closeness to him. He barely knows anything about Taekwoon, but he feels as though there’s something there. He leans to the right, slightly hovering over Taekwoon before resting his head on Taekwoon’s shoulder, still holding the boy’s hand. Taekwoon rakes his hand through Jaehwan’s hair, and the other boy can notice he’s wearing four silver rings. It’s endearing to him.

“Taekwoon, what’s your favorite color?” He asks.

“I like silvers and whites, but my absolute favorite color is red if you must know.” Jaehwan’s happy that he speaks more this time.

Year 3, April 6th.

Jaehwan starts to notice a pattern happening and he’s frustrated. So when he sees Taekwoon standing there in his hat and staring at Jaehwan with ambiguity, a flurry of questions rush out of him as Taekwoon says, “Let’s go.”

“Why do you come the same day every year?”

“I don’t know.” Taekwoon’s never been that much of a talker, and Jaehwan respects that. But today he definitely wants answers. Something, anything, that can heal the pounding headache he has from driving himself up a wall from stress.

“Why do we do the same thing every day?”

“I don’t know.” Jaehwan huffs, about to disconnect their hands, but Taekwoon grasps his hand back into its tight hold, squeezing it a little and running his thumb over the top of Jaehwan’s hand. “Don’t leave,” he mumbles. Jaehwan hears the sincerity in his voice and a small smile curves into his lips. He can’t turn down Taekwoon. Not at all. Not when he’s wormed his way into Jaehwan’s heart.

He can’t deny it, he has feelings for this boy. He feels dumb and stupid for feeling this way, but it doesn’t stop the onslaught of palpitations his heart gives every time Taekwoon smiles at him or squeezes his hand just a little tighter when he starts to drift off the sidewalk into the grass. All his sweet little quirks, like how his nose twitches when he smells the flowers, or how his eyes appear, a thick black abyss against his cream hat.

Jaehwan feels his heart pumping when Taekwoon halts, expecting him to take an initiative. Instead, he picks up another clover, plucking three petals off of it before setting it down. Before they start strolling along, however, Jaehwan stops Taekwoon. “C-Could I…m-maybe…h-hug you?” Jaehwan’s voice comes out in a stutter, and he hadn’t even originally planned it. Taekwoon’s smile makes him less insecure, and once he feels strong arms around him, Jaehwan’s confidence boosts.

He hasn’t felt any safer than he did in Taekwoon’s arms.

He accepts the embrace, snuggling into Taekwoon’s chest and devouring the moment for all it was. A simple hug to someone would not be as meaningful as it was for Jaehwan right now. Taekwoon was leaning over Jaehwan, the small height difference at his advantage as he planted a small kiss to Jaehwan’s head, sweeping his slender fingers into the chestnut brown hair of the boy in his arms. Eventually, though, all good things must come to an end and it drained Jaehwan immensely when Taekwoon pulled away. Or maybe it could have been the fatigue he was experiencing. He wasn’t able to sleep recently.

He was always thinking about Taekwoon.

Taekwoon’s fingers find Jaehwan’s hand again, and they intertwine for another time. The day comes to a close where they turn around, and Jaehwan is escorted back to his house, like all the years before. Everything was picture perfect and pinpoint exactly to how the first day went, minus some minor changes. Jaehwan was fine that the interactions changed each day, but he promised himself he’d be a little bolder next time.

“Goodbye, Taekwoon,” he says the first time that year.

Year 4, April 6th.

Jaehwan finds it harder to sleep every night. His nights are found awake, obsessively pondering over the idea of what it would be like to kiss Taekwoon or go on an actual date with him. Any idea of being simply with Taekwoon kept Jaehwan up all night and endlessly excited. His mother and other friends were worried about him. Jaehwan ignored all their calls and pleas. He didn’t want them to interrupt his plan for the next time he’d see Taekwoon.

Then the day finally comes, and he ignores the surprise birthday party his mom set up for him. He’d promised he’d be there after his mom had to disclose the information to him. He knew he’d be with Taekwoon for a bit, though. Taekwoon ruled over everything else that was somewhat important. Jaehwan knew that. He just wanted Taekwoon to finally know.

Today he was going to confess.

Dark circles were under his eyes, evident that he hadn’t been indulging in the pleasure that was sleep. To him, it didn’t seem necessary anymore. His sleeping schedule was messed up, and he knew that. Did he care? No.

Could he fix it? No.

He dropped his backpack off on the grass near his door and accepted the hand offered to him the fourth time.

They walk side by side together, the adoration prevalent in Jaehwan’s tired eyes as he gazes endlessly at Taekwoon. He doesn’t appear to have aged a day, or even wore a different outfit. He still wore the same sweater and hat, every single year. Jaehwan finds it odd, but his brain really isn’t in the mood for questioning things. The only thing that’s on his mind is the sinful Taekwoon, taking meticulous steps next to him.

“Taekwoon?” The boy hums in response, rubbing his thumb in the dips in Jaehwan’s fingers. “Can I tell you something?” Taekwoon stops, turning to Jaehwan and giving him his full attention.

“What is it?”

“I love you,” he admits, staring right into the chasm of onyx that was Taekwoon’s eyes. They widen slightly. It was evident Taekwoon wasn’t expecting that at all. But nevertheless, he gives a look of understanding to Jaehwan.

“I love you too,” he returns back to a giddy Jaehwan. There’s a feeling deep within Jaehwan that screams at him, telling him Taekwoon isn’t telling the truth, but he doesn’t care.

All he does is lay his lips over Taekwoon’s without another word.

Taekwoon kisses back with equal fervor and removes his hand from Jaehwan’s to place on the boy’s hips. It all feels so very real and amazing to the boy who had initiated the kiss, and it was absolute bliss. It was also the coup de grâce. Taekwoon pulls away, giving Jaehwan a comforting smile and kneeling down on his knees to take a clover again from the ground.

This time, only the stem remains as he plucks the four petals off of it. He flicks the stem off somewhere unknown instead of setting it down nicely as he did before.

Jaehwan doesn’t notice it, but Taekwoon’s hat is tainted red now. Drips cascade down and stain the ivory of his hat. Each splatter joins together as it drips down, and Jaehwan touches his upper lip and stares down at it. It’s stained in red. He’s bleeding.

Patches of black appear swirled in the environment around him, and he feels woozy. Taekwoon’s gaze appears menacing now as his face rests into an indifferent expression. He takes his hat off and he simply gawks at the maroon blotches on his hat. “I like this better. I told you I liked red the best,” he says, his smile not appearing so comforting in the black patches in Jaehwan’s vision. Jaehwan’s eyes roll to the back of his head and he falls to the ground, shaking and convulsing without any sign of stopping.

Taekwoon simply leans down, the indifferent gaze plastered to his face as he caresses Jaehwan’s cheek as white foam beads from the other boy’s mouth. “I’m sorry for making you sick, ‘Hwannie,” Taekwoon announces. He raises up from his position after giving Jaehwan a light pat on the cheek. He pulls his hat back on, still reminiscent of the crimson liquid beading upon it. He pays no mind to it as he walks further down the sidewalk than he ever had when he was with Jaehwan.

Year 4, May 15th.

If Jaehwan’s mom hadn’t found him outside, he imagines he would have never stopped seizing.

He practically lives at the hospital now. Treatment of the tumor inside his brain is brutal, and he’s starting to lose the remaining strands of hair on his head. Radiation therapy often leaves him fatigued, and he sleeps most of the times after his session anyways. Fleeting thoughts of Taekwoon never seem to stop, however.

Before he started treatment, the doctors were baffled at how long his tumor had been in development. It was huge. Almost life-threatening enough to cause his death had there been another year of malignant tumor growth. They ask Jaehwan when he noticed symptoms, but he doesn’t answer. He doesn’t know. He has no idea.

He bites his lip in thought. It’s only been a month since he’s seen Taekwoon, but he misses him. He wonders when he’ll get to go home again and see him on his birthday. He just hopes he won’t have to spend it cooped up inside the hospital. He hopes his cancer isn’t that bad after all.

Sometimes he looks out the window and he daydreams about him. It’s not easy staying here, being fed barely edible hospital food, and constantly being tired and missing out on the world around him. Spring was in full swing, and Jaehwan couldn’t even smell the flowers anymore like he yearned to. Sitting in his armchair wasn’t easy. Nothing really ever was.

Months passed by silently. His mother was concerned for his well being, but in all honestly, Jaehwan didn’t even know if he could find the excitement anymore. His heart panged for Taekwoon; so much so that it was deadly to him. The doctor said that at any time his tumor could come back, so they made sure to keep full watch on him after his first treatment was done.

In July, they let him go. They determined he was healthy enough to live a normal life, and by then, it was a bittersweet vacation for him. When he walks down the sidewalk towards his house, he sees daisies and sunflowers in full bloom in the flower box near his front door. He cries. He didn’t know he could see the beauty in things so trivial until this moment.

The months fly by without a relapse. And for that, Jaehwan is grateful. He hated being cooped up in between the dreary gray walls, hearing destructive coughs near him in the next room. It diminished his moral; made him feel absolutely worthless. In August, Jaehwan practically skipped throughout the neighborhood. He felt infinitely better. But still, he always wondered if he’d see Taekwoon on his birthday next year.

All the holidays whirred around in his mind and he was temporarily distracted. Sooner or later, he was counting down the milliseconds until the clock hit twelve, a new year upon him. Hopefully, he’ll head into the new year being cancer free. But there’s always this looming doubt clouding his mind. Along with wishes of his New Years’ kiss to be Taekwoon.

Year 5, April 6th.

When the new year approaches, Jaehwan finds himself back in school with a blank slate. He hopes he won’t be known as “the kid who got cancer” this year. He hopes he’ll graduate with a high head, expecting university to be wonderous and full of amazing memories. But today’s a special day. It’s his birthday. And his mother wants him to come home right away. She has a surprise for him, she says.

But there’s one thing he has to check.

He actively speeds down the crosswalk towards his house. His backpack feels lighter this year, and it feels great. Nothing’s weighing him down this time as he rushes down the sidewalk. His house is far in the distance, but he walks as fast as he can muster, heavy breaths tumbling out of him as he plunges into the only birthday wish he’s ever wanted to have. Jaehwan isn’t expecting what he sees when he drops his bag.

He doesn’t drop his bag to run into Taekwoon’s arms this time. He drops it in shock.

Because he doesn’t see Taekwoon there. There’s no glint of white catching his eye, or a hand offered to him, or any inkling of a sunshine smile headed his way. He tries to blink, to make sure he isn’t seeing things because Taekwoon has to be there. He has to. But when Jaehwan opens his eyes, there’s nothing. His breathing slows, and he doesn’t even notice the new car that’s for him in the driveway because he’s dropped to his knees in absolute hysteria.

He tries to fight his tears, to tell himself that maybe Taekwoon’s late, or maybe he just forgot to come today. He knew those were all lies, though. Taekwoon was never late. Taekwoon always remembered. After the realization hit him, the dam had overflown, and tears were pouring from Jaehwan’s eyes. He sobbed, long and hard, into his hands, which was still reminiscent of Taekwoon’s light touches.

As soon as he started, his mind began to get foggy. Was he forgetting Taekwoon? He couldn’t be. That couldn’t be. He tried to shake his mind to remember the tingle of his lips on his own, how warm and homey the embrace fell, how brightly Taekwoon’s smile stood out to him that it made his insides fuzzy. He tried to remember all of that, but his mind was numbing his heart. Why?

He never finds the answer. By year 6, Jaehwan forgets.

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