mythvoiced:
The best part about all of this is that he’s dragging a ridiculously elevated body count into a grave dug by none other than himself. A grave miles deep where neither up nor down knows what’s down or up, where the sky looks as pitch black as the soil he’s drowning in, where all his mistakes are shoved into the earth surrounding its captives, staring back at them with the cynical glee of someone’s ‘I told you so’, with the bone-deep teeth-shattering grip of a hand around their throat shoving their face as deep into all the crevices he’s broken into his surroundings, demanding he choke on the soil there, demanding he finally acknowledge what it tastes like to cut people open and watch them bleed just because he doesn’t know how to say ‘I’m overwhelmed’.
The best part about this is the cynical misplaced sense of humour he picked up from the brother currently chattering about the day no one asked them to retell, some story or the other about how lucky Nathan was that the flight landed at this hour, because Chulsoo the housecat barely steps outside unless the sun is high enough to warm them a little, but that’s something Nathan should know anyway, he adds with a knowing laughter, because the sun is high to warm anybody else up, while Chulsoo shrinks further into the cryogenic hell he’s shaped his insides into becoming and doesn’t know what the hell he’s supposed to find in the back of Nathan’s head, but stares through it as opening up a hole there might give him all the answers to the questions he wouldn’t even dare think.
Such as, what is he supposed to do and how can he apologise and what should he apologise for and is he even sorry? That’s another problem, Chulsoo doesn’t know how sorry they are, there’s a fine line between messing up and being aware and messing up and being aware of it intimately enough that the mind knee-jerks into not being aware at all. An admission of guilt, of fault, and Chulsoo has to watch the rest of his guilts pour of his throat.
A pool of vomit painted in their own blood, and the ink of the letters glaring back at them from the screen after they’d hit send. Everything had been way too bright, a few black letters on a white screen, the white of semi-familiar hospital walls, the white of the noise inside their mind, broken up by the distinct sound of twigs breaking under bare feet or the cry of a fox in the midst of a forest, all those sounds he tries to break up envisioning what it might feel like to swallow his phone hole.
He’d regretted it the instant he’d hit send. There’s phantom hands there where Nathan had held him the kindest, the roughness of his palm against his own, soft from lack of use, nothing in contrast to everything that had cut across Nathan’s skin, all the scars he’d mapped out with slow fingers and nothing else to offer, because his tongue wasn’t good at delivering compassion, because he hadn’t dared to ask, because if they did, wouldn’t that have brought them closer?
What if Nathan had described all the shadowy silhouettes that made up the bags under his eyes whenever they’d show or that particular nuance in his gait? What would Chulsoo had done then? What was there to do? What can’t he wrap his head around?
His gaze drops, descends slowly like a connoisseur down a freshly discovered statue, as Kiwoo leads them out the building and turns to Nathan. Kiwoo was always so good at imitating the sun, far too bright and blaring in contrast to the ice of the oldest Kang and Chulsoo’s own mist.
When they’d stared at the scars running down Nathan’s back and found nothing at all in their throat that would make sense to be uttered, when they’d taken to Nathan as a part of their life that was just there and felt nice, but he couldn’t dip his toes any farther because what the fuck was there at the deepest depths of the ocean and Chulsoo was always the poorest swimmer whenever they’d visit a public pool.
His fingers twitch.
Should they hold hands?
Kiwoo continues to be deaf to Chulsoo’s silent screams and pats the closing trunk of his car cheekily after Nathan’s luggage disappears within it.
Are they supposed to sit next to each other?
He pats Nathan’s shoulder too, because Kiwoo wants to be nice, and he’s always been touchy. Because Kiwoo doesn’t give a shit about what other people think – or so he claims – because Hoon would have asked them to not kiss, not hold hands, to not even look at one another for longer than necessary, what if someone saw? Because Kiwoo looks at Nathan as if he’s grateful he’s there, as if there’s no reason in this world good enough to ask Nathan to not be where he is.
Kiwoo doesn’t know anything about Nathan.
Sure, what Chulsoo knows would probably not deter him anyway.
Looks good in a waiter’s suit, what the fuck is he supposed to say?
He used to claim Nathan’s hands as his own, wrap them around himself with his back to his chest, kiss his knuckles and pretend it wasn’t because of the scars there, when it was dark enough and they had had half a hope Nathan had long since fallen asleep.
Why does he keep thinking about his scars?
Has he gained any new ones lately? What if Nathan collects scars on the daily, and doesn’t just wear those from a past Chulsoo knows nearly nothing about. What if there’s a laceration wound on his chest, what if his insides are out for everyone to see, what if Chulsoo had taken a knife to it and cut him up from the inside out, what if Nathan wore no new scars at all, because he’d been glad, in the end?
Kiwoo gives him an odd look. Well, it’s not so much odd, as it is the look he wears when he feels like asking him if he’s alright, but knows the reaction he’ll get, which always prompts him to decide against any further questioning. Instead he opens one of the car doors leading to the backseat and motions them to get in, all with the glint of a teasing sibling, and the stare-down of someone who is smarter than he pretends to be.
Chulsoo should, perhaps, just maybe, potentially, considering climbing into a turbine engine of a plane and wait for it to start.
He steps forward, stops near the door, his sleeve brushes against Nathan’s and he recoils, feigning an itch in his forearm that was never there, and most likely won’t be, considering how numb the skin there feels, and motions towards the inside of the car.
Kiwoo walks to the other side.
Chulsoo sighs and looks at Nathan as if he wouldn’t rather gauge his own eyes out than do so.
“You can sit in the front,” it’s not quite a whisper, but it’s not a shout either, it’s something easily drowned out by unwanted listeners, and it’s punctuated as if text written on a paper with neither beginning nor end, letters thrown together by a cold machine. He doesn’t know how to portray anxieties, he doesn’t know how to feign delight, you’d think a voice actor would know better.
And he does.
“Sight-seeing, better view,” they supply, an excuse to use if Kiwoo wondered. Kiwoo knows why Chulsoo would probably never take the front seat again. But he wouldn’t know why they wouldn’t just share the backseat.
Or why Nathan wouldn’t know about the first detail.
“Getting to know the city. The roads. Something like that.”
Kiwoo pokes his head out of the driver’s seat and gives them a questioning look.
“Uh… Do you guys need a moment or… can we go?”
The way Kiwoo looks at Nathan makes Nathan want to vomit. It’s like Kiwoo’s seeing a different man entirely, some business man who’s all white smiles and big pockets, and not actually Nathan, who smells like cheap cologne and looks like he’s some dude they picked up off the streets out of pity. It makes Nathan sick to lie like this, especially to someone like Kiwoo who seems so genuinely happy to see Nathan, when he knows he’s just some badly dressed imposter, playing out a role because he’s never been able to say no.
Out of the corner of his eye, Nathan can see that his hair reflected in the car window; it seems all that time spend sleeking it back in the airport bathroom was in vain because stray hairs are already rebelling against the product. In all fairness, it looks like how Nathan feels: a barely held together mess. All it would take is one ill-intentioned gust of wind to blow away any semblance of dignity Nathan seems to have and that would be that. He’d be revealed as the charlatan he is.
But Nathan just smiles at Kiwoo, like Nathan’s not a complete and utter fraud, like this isn’t some bullshit scam thrown together that Nathan’s playing along with because he’s a fucking idiot.
Then Nathan’s left with Chulsoo again. Like turning a dial on a radio, Nathan’s tuned in to only Chulsoo, everything narrowing down to the space Chulsoo fills, the unsure feeling in Nathan’s stomach that only adds to the turmoil already there. He’s still torn between being anger and yearning, settling somewhere in limbo where he just stares.
Nathan’s so hyperfocused on Chulsoo’s every move that he couldn’t have missed Chulsoo’s suggestion even if a bomb exploded right next to him. It’s a tempting offer. They’re both lanky people, their limbs will invariably brush if they both sit in the backseat, and that’s a level of touch Nathan’s not sure he’s prepared enough for yet. Even through two layers of denim, the warmth of Chulsoo’s skin will seep through to Nathan and it’ll remind Nathan of all the times he spent pressed up against Chulsoo, his forehead against Chulsoo’s shoulder to avoid watching whatever horror movie they’d put on for the night. It’s a hard fall to go from disgustingly sweet domesticities to this. Nathan’s jaw clenches at the memories, the pain of them, and his teeth ache from the pressure.
But, sitting in the front means he’ll constantly be in Kiwoo’s peripheral view and Kiwoo will want to talk because he seems like the nice guy who tries to keep up conversation, and well, Nathan’s not so sure how long he can keep up this happy to be here attitude before something in him cracks. Nathan can maybe handle Chulsoo and whatever stress that brings. That, he’s familiar with, but Kiwoo’s so kind and hospitable that Nathan’s not quite sure he knows how to deal with him. Regardless of what verbal path they’ll take, Nathan will slip up, he’s sure of it. Kiwoo will ask some innocent question or make a harmless comment and Nathan will make some face that’ll reveal the whole plot, there’s no way around it. He’s not ready to be caught. Not yet at least. So, he’ll take whatever pain and/or hell that comes with Chulsoo constantly being in his peripheral. If Nathan can make it months with Chulsoo’s ghost haunting him, he can deal with the actual man for a few minutes.
“I think I’d like to sit with you.” Nathan's words are equally soft but more nervous, like it’s a question and not a statement. He doesn’t know how Chulsoo will react and to be honest, he’s not sure he’s prepared for whatever comes, which seems to be a running theme for him currently. In fact, it might just be the theme of the whole trip if this awkward and stilted atmosphere stays between him and Chulsoo.
“We’re good.” Nathan calls to Kiwoo without turning to look at him because Nathan’s pretty sure if he turns, Kiwoo will see right through the phony little happiness Nathan’s clinging to for dear life. After a quick breath in, Nathan gets into the car, purposefully not looking at Chulsoo as he enters. There’ll be time to deal with his reaction later. Right now, Nathan just has to resist the urge to run for the hills.
Once in, he turns to look straight out the window, eyes following random people just so he can look curious, like he’s simply overwhelmed by being in another country, and not like he’s purposefully avoiding any and all eye contact. It can’t last, not when he has a part to play, but he just wants to soak up as much time as he can to steel himself. He arranges his limbs carefully, each purposefully placed to look as if he’s just tired when he leans to one side. In all fairness, it’s not entirely a lie, Nathan is quite exhausted from the flight and the sleepless night before that, but it’s also the only excuse Nathan has for why he’s not touching Chulsoo. They should be holding hands, Nathan rubbing the back of Chulsoo’s knuckles with his thumb while they sneaking glances and smiles at each other, but then again, they should be doing a lot of things. In fact, all Nathan can do is think about the things they should be doing.
“Thank you,” Nathan says suddenly to distract himself from that line of thought, “For picking me up. I really appreciate it.” He still doesn’t turn to look anywhere but out the window. He doesn’t dare.
