Archive of Our Own ^beta

One day, if all known languages ​​were to disappoint the entire universe and disappear, Sunghoon thought that he would be able to convey to Jaeyun all the emotions that even words were not capable of conveying, even with the sincerity of the tremors in his pupils.

There is a warmth that rises from his chest in all directions (or descends and clings to his bones at the bottom of the bottom, reminding the decaying corners of the existence of the sun, joy and life —or simply just Jaeyun). Even if it travels through his veins, warming his skin and making it easier for him to breathe, —his, his, his —but it's not really his, because all of that warmth belongs to Jaeyun, Jaeyun is that warmth itself, because he's a little skeleton that keeps Sunghoon from becoming a block of ice, he is that little heart that makes Sunghoon more special than a simple, forgotten snowflake that waits seasons for it to come back when it melts. Something Sunghoon had longed for years to hold in the palm of his own hand, in his own chest, in the sacred sanctuary lined with his teeth inside his own mouth.

Sim Jaeyun is an ivy. An ivy that grows, becomes wilder day by day despite the smallness of his bones and corners of his body, and attacks Sunghoon's house of stone. In Sunghoon's house of stone —maybe not anymore —all Sunghoon can see is a dark green, an ivy winding towards him in all its gentleness and fragility, and his own hands reaching out to hold it, to satiate what is hastily raging beneath him with his own skin, with his own love.

And a little sunshine, and all the beauty. Briefly, less than each of them and adequately, with all the elegance, with everything, as if they had all come together and climbed from a single coccyx, and as if all the pulchritude in the world lay under a single name. Sim Jaeyun. A beautiful, very beautiful ivy.

An ivy around Sunghoon's throat that he wanted to feel until he was breathless. A pretty, beauteous, lovely, flawless, phenomenal, extraordinary creature. A creature that Sunghoon would mistake for the purpose of his creation as worshiping his beauty.

Sunghoon thinks that every mistake has a one-time compensation and forgiveness, but his is not a one-time occurrence. Because falling for Sim Jaeyun is something you can't stop or bring to an end. No matter how wildly you spread your wings, you'll eventually crash into the ground, something shaped like pain, hard enough to make you wish you were dead—until, after a certain point, it isn't. And until that point leaves you waiting with your chest in your palm, right in the middle of purgatory, between life and death.

Purest Jaeyun,

You don’t have to come to the hell to tell me that you’re grateful, for everything, that's really an exaggeration, because your great heart pours out so much generosity for me, even if I just do what I have to do and step back—yet I won't say I'm complaining about that, because that's just proof that you continue to be just you. (And I don't even want to be the last thing stopping you from being you.) If the same thing happens again —and the allies on my side cause this once again (you can be sure it won't happen once again) please let me know the honorifics and which quarter of the world they were sent to next time (it won't be a next time though). I'm not saying please because this is not a request. Take care of your wings and do not forget to use the ointments provided, I am sure that I will see you in better health on the day of interrogation and punishment.

Gracious Sunghoon,

We both know that what you did was a hole of good deeds that you opened in the middle of your soul that feeds on sins, instead of what you should have done. And that's exactly why I can't help feeling like no matter how much I show my gratitude to you, I can never deliver it to your chest in its purest form — though I hope my sincerity is alive enough to manage to light a spark, even if it doesn't burn as hot as yours. My wings are healing, you can be sure that I don't miss the things I need to do, Riki shows up in my room in too many core minutes before he’s supposed to arrive and it takes tens of core hours to him leave me just by myself. All I’m trying to say is that I’m well taken care of, you don’t need to worry about me, I’m saying this with all my sincerity. (And I know there won't be a next time—thanks to you. And another and because I long for the day of interrogation and punishment just to see you up close one more time.)

Sunghoon doesn't see himself as the worst being in the reality, really, being from hell makes him just as evil and dangerous as he should be, nothing more, nothing less. At least that's how it feels until he ends up next to Sim Jaeyun.

Because Jaeyun is exactly white. He is not an angel whose wings have traces of dark gray ashes from the fall, not an angel whose eyes are two black wells. Jaeyun is a pure white angel, like the coldness of freshly fallen snow, like the freshness of a new page, like the peak of wrinkled skin worn away as a representative of the labor put in.

He is every shade of white, shadowed or veiled, even to the point where it's close to black—never black but still so white that you can tell it's just Jaeyun; Because there is elegance flowing from his being, and there is only beauty in the feathers of his wings that meet the tips of his trousers. Jaeyun is a multi-layered treasure, a sacred promise (one that mortals: animals, mostly humans—keep with their mothers) and under every shell you peel, something even prettier, more precious and valuable emerges.

Therefore, if Sunghoon's claws, shaped and created in fire, intens to touch Jaeyun, to peel off his layers and crumble his beauty between his teeth and tongue, this is only because his bones, which feel like they are carved from iron, are bent from the burden of love falling on his shoulders.

Of all the things created from fire, he is the most willing, the most eager, the most impatient and the most patient at the same time. Because he needs to touch, he needs to love as if he is a mortal and like his purpose of existence is to be the ribcage of another heart, he needs to reach out to Sim Jaeyun and become one with him after roasting in his own fire for hundreds decades, like that fusion of them will worth to longing for feelings he has never even experienced before.

And that damn numen, what he wishes for, what he hopes for, what he wants for while swimming in that huge blood of selfishness that is too much even for his own body—which was created to be just a sinner —not a longing creature for a thing, for a someone that have never been belonged to him. As slowly as a snake curls up to poison someone, as slowly as its crawling, as instinctively as his own breathing, as instinctive as him selling a sin, the way his coal-black hands reaches out to Jaeyun, then his lips and knees and every inch of him until he makes Jaeyun as black as he is by poisoning him from lips, looking him by the eyes, kissing him from his lashes, stroking him by his hair, then rubbing the nape of his neck, sinking his teeth into his collarbones, holding him by the waist, and touching him in every way possible. (And then, having the urge to reach into his ribcage with bloody knuckles to dominate his heart.)

And this is the most longing thing he could wish for, because according to his belief, blood is what nourishes beauty—and so, so what? Because Sunghoon is ready to shed more of his own blood than Jaeyun would ever even want.

Dearest Jaeyun, 

Wanna be the skin that covers your bones so delicately, wanna be the cage that protects your heart so firmly, wanna be the spit that collects in your mouth and blesses your teeth, wanna be the spit that splashes from your mouth to mine—becoming a tangle between our tongues. Hear me out because I wanna be everything for you, wanna be everything in you so that you may understand, without going far, that everything you seek is here, right in my bones.

Venerated Sunghoon,

Even though your desire to be as close to me as possible pours out and fills the translucent void in my chest—this is not your home, this skeleton covers itself with a very soft and fragile skin in order to be your home, so please stay where you are, I swear that we will be one when the time comes.

Sunghoon remembers that when he first touched Jaeyun, he had a skeletal shape so small that a mortal could see him as a baby.

Sunghoon isn't the oldest of the monsters on his side, but that doesn't make him a young one either, he's old enough to see and feel Jaeyun's creation, taste it in his blood, elevate it in his eyes.

That's why, after waiting in the fire until the sparkling skin applied to his newly shaped skeleton covers him, touching Jaeyun's completed form for the first time gives him a light he will never see and a warmth he can't have even in his own home with all his sins. 

And now that he thinks about it, it's no wonder that in the time it takes for one mortal's lifespan to be multiplied dozens of times by another's, all his own chest, stretched with black, does is yearn for that light and that warmth. 

Because he knows that even after countless sins that have been washed over, he still takes refuge in that touch and prevents himself from changing for the worse. He feels that touch hugging his lips and wrists even harder when he is a fingertip away from the line of going crazy.

He can't help it, he can't change it, yet it's like mortals crashing to shore in a wooden boat during the great flood— the memories left on his fingertips, which managed to touch a millimeter on Jaeyun's skin, are a piece of wood and Sunghoon became a mortal from that moment of birth and built a huge ship on that small piece of wood, he struggles, he fights with himself—with the waves and the agony that they bring, he sinks and sometimes he can't get out, but somehow he manages to stay above water without drowning—he stays in the water, while still having a life, completely surrounded by Jaeyun.

And perhaps what brings this sudden wave of peace is Jaeyun's elegance, which flows from his silk hair to his glorious, delicate wings and then finds its way into Sunghoon's dirty veins; Perhaps it is his kindness that grants Sunghoon this unexpected stillness, crawling with their heads held high with their light bones falling unconsciously from Jaeyun's eyelashes and parting Sunghoon's lips.

When Sunghoon pushes his ship, which is accustomed to seeing the bottom of the water, to the surface again, he ends in the folds of Jaeyun's lips, which means that the right to touch has been taken away from him and Sunghoon has become alienated from his own skin, imprisoned under the flesh that determines the shape of his own skeleton.

Paying the right of exit is as easy as knowing what disguise to wear to make a sin seem like a sweet pleasure. Sunghoon keeps the fire burning under his skin, and then the blood comes out, and then... Blood becomes the only thing Sunghoon can see, because he is the one who is blood and flowing, and perhaps the fountain of blood itself.

My Brightest Jaeyun,

I don't know if it's the right time to say this—but love, there's a fire that boils my blood and leaves my skin in ashes, I need your love, I need your bones, I need your breath. So I want to end the waiting now, please understand me, we need to break this curse, come, please—mortality is not a force that can break my love.

My Love,

We are not in a position to sink into the pit of whether the time has come or not, if this is what you want and need, I will do it, I will hold your hand. Mortality cannot end the love that has passed from my blood to yours. Because the only thing that makes me who I am is you, it is your love.

Make me a mortal, this is not the most understandable thing that the owner of a pocket full of sins chooses to beg. But these are the ones that slip off his tongue when he speaks of need, because the love that scratches the inside of his chest with its nails breathes with its light extinguished as it stands imprisoned between bones—Sunghoon doesn't like it, Sunghoon wants it shining whitest, Sunghoon wants it outside at its freest, not in the sky but on the ground, on its own feet and at its most alive until death takes its.

Make me a mortal, make me a mortal and set me free, let my love rise, let me touch it, touch him, make me a mortal and make me infinite, just make its attainable.

As fast as a fire going out and as heavy as a devil's loss. But this thing that is love is a god that a mortal bets his whole life on believing in. Sunghoon craves that desperation, that passion, that smallness—he thinks that if he has Jaeyun by his side, close enough to hold him, he can be as small as he can be with him. Because he thinks that if he wraps his skin, which does not need to be used, with Jaeyun's love, something sacred will almost be formed from his own ashes. When he looks at Jaeyun, he thinks that he has the right to think about this.

That's why he pushes the evils, sins, and unacknowledged desires he holds in his endless breaths to the point where they can see the edge and drop them off the cliff. It’s like a gamble—like he could never lose, but like there was something more sacred to his left, buried in his chest that he could choose, more real than anything he knew. Real. Real. Real.

Something that couldn't hold on to the coils of Sunghoon's poisoned mind. Because his existence is a rogue game in which he tries to absorb everything he touches into himself—trying to transform them into himself. Turning them an orange as fiery as himself; except perhaps to ensure that their color does not fade over time to a pale, drained maroon.

And this is where Jaeyun changes everything. When a creature being born without light loses the only thing close to light it has over time, which is darkness itself, Jaeyun is a soul that glorifies it with his insignificant existence and turns Sunghoon a golden yellow. Good ; this word is not enough for him. Gap, gap and gap, a huge gap until it becomes as exalted as Jaeyun's existence because the language created is not descriptive enough for him.

How one can make someone else exist simply by existing? Jaeyun is not a God, he is not a God, he is not the God. He is not the one considered sacred, prayed for, or worshiped. Jaeyun is not a God —then why is he the one Sunghoon kneels to? Why is he the one Sunghoon worships—even his silhouette? Then why is he the one who has Sunghoon's prayers and words? Then why is he the one carrying Sunghoon's blood on his chest? If Jaeyun is not a god, why was Sunghoon created as his half? Jaeyun is not a God, and maybe that’s the key of the freedom because he is the one for whom Sunghoon gave up God and himself.

My Jaeyun,

You know I'll find you, I know you know, 'cause I will. The light will now be inside, and for the first time I will follow your shadow without feeling it, because now I will be able to see it. Love will now be visible in the light of day, and I will be able to carry it on my skin without hiding it behind sins. What's precious is you, nothing but you, so I don't regret it, so here I reach out to you with trembling hands, I don't regret it and I never will, because it's you, it's about you, which means everything is right, everything is complete, I am at home.

My Sunghoon

I know. I know it all. But you, you must know this, you don't need to travel around the whole world, I will already be inside your chest, united with your bones. You won't have to reach far because I will be in you, always.

“Honestly I don't care, man,” Heeseung says amid the heat, which turns his lemonade into a hot lemon soup in a matter of minutes. The campus cafeteria is very quiet because in this heat, everyone throws themselves into the wooded area outside to find a cooler place. “I don't think I can separate Tolstoy's character from the way his fictional characters are created, because it is a fact that he was a complete dishonor to his wife. He was just a disgusting dotard.”

At that very moment, a chair pulls up next to the table where they are sitting under their ventilator, which they hope will work. There’s no way that you have just called Tolstoy a disgusting dotard, Riki says while he ruffles his blond hair and sits at the table with an obviously amused tone.

Well, hyung is kinda right , it’s this tone that draws Sunghoon into the conversation he's not interested in, Jaeyun humming as he settles into the chair he's pulled into the small space between him and Jongseong, while Sunghoon slowly examines him with joy and curiosity that suddenly comes to life—from every spot on his face to the clothes he chooses to wear today; And he’s just so beautiful, sweet, warm, bright enough that Sunghoon would want to be stuck in his orbit, motionless, for years.

“He might,” Jongseong begins, he continues to explain his point in a way that is obvious (from his facial expressions) that he cannot tolerate the mistakes in this tense conversation. “But if we did not keep the work separate from the author's own personality, we would have thousands of books that would be shamefully removed from the classics.”

Heeseung rolls his eyes to this defense, more than half of the classics sucks anyway, Jongseong almost faints when Heeseung says this, and it's something that makes Riki laugh until he almost bursts out. You slacker, it's not the fact that you know the skills of men running with a ball down to their smallest features that sucks, but is it the contributions people try to make to literature that suck? And when Jongseong says these so many words non-stop in ten seconds, this time he feels like he's going to faint from shortness of breath. And again, Riki laughs harder than he has ever laughed in his life.

Again, Sunghoon isn't really interested in any of this, even though his Ancient Greek teacher had assigned him homework on certain books from the classics, as far as he remembers, there aren't any Tolstoy books on the list, and that's a good little detail that puts Sunghoon at ease—not because of the fact that he hasn't read Tolstoy before, but because Jaeyun, because of the fact that he had serious problems with Tolstoy’s books. (Honestly, this is a simple equation, if Jaeyun doesn't like it something, there is no chance Sunghoon will like it that thing anyway, the same goes for Tolstoy.)

“I think I can understand your point Jongseong,” Jaeyun says, and Jongseong whispers to the void a silent thank god randomly. And Sunghoon starts to be interested in this conversation, randomly. “But there is an important point that you choose to ignore, and that is that an author will always add something of himself to his work. No author can create his work away from his own personality, so you cannot keep any work completely separate from its author.”

Exactly, let my boy speak the truths, Heeseung mouths ironically. Don’t even dare to speak, Jongseong fights back, glares to Heeseung deadly, and Sunghoon finds Sim Jaeyun beautiful among everything that revolves around him and melts away, ironically.

“Well then,” Jongseong sighs in defeat, not showing he has a final card to play. “Let’s have a little talk about Kafka.”

And that moment is the moment when Riki gets up from the table at the speed of light, saying ‘Dude, this is the part where I have to leave, ’ the moment when Heeseung shakes his head in disappointment, saying ‘ Man, eat shit, ’ and Sunghoon checks Jaeyun, who looks like he was stunned by his anger and got hit from his achilles heel. It’s exactly the moment when Sunghoon knows what is about to come —so he warns Jongseong by saying, Jongseong, stop, don't do it.

“Please don’t try to claim he was a zionist again—”

“Well, it’s a fact that he showed interest in it—”

“He never joined a Zionist organization Jongseong, please leave my non-biological father out of your personal matters.”

“You are unbearable.” Jongseong says as he begins to pack his bag for the upcoming lesson of his.

“Not really, he is not,” Sunghoon opens his mouth for the first time in nearly two hours, he knows it's a bit creepy and attention-grabbing that it's to defend Jaeyun, but emotions and thoughts cling to life to stay free. “Even though Kafka was interested in Zionism, this does not make Kafka equal to the Zionists of today, it does not make him a bad and flawed person, because the idea of ​​Zionism that the Jews had at that time was completely different from today. Besides he was a socialist, which should disprove the claim that he was a zionist in the first place, because socialism and zionism are two very contradictory things.”

This is a much longer and longer conversation than he expected. It's an attempt to prove the innocence of a dead man rather than a reputation that could be saved with a single sentence if it were a personal defense, because these details and beliefs are what make Jaeyun the person he is today. And Sunghoon loves who he is more specifically than he could ever love another being in the world that way.

When he feels that he has fulfilled his daily conversation quota in the group and turns to his right, seeing Jaeyun's shining eyes and his smile growing as if brand new flowers have bloomed at the corners of his lips somehow makes him happy because he understands that he carries the right words and beliefs in his mouth along with Jaeyun's love.

“Literally Jongseong, I'm sorry that you won't come out with victory this conversation again but,” While Heeseung is trying to wipe his sweaty forehead with the tip of his basketball jersey, when he sees the napkin handed to him by Jaeyun, his skeleton, which is melting with boredom, straightens up immediately. “The poor man was just a socialist with sympathy and a desire for a safe place for Jews to live.”

“No, he was just a depressed freak,” Jongseong answers quickly with annoyance, which makes Heeseung chuckle. But Jongseong doesn’t mind to him as he stands up to leave. “And you,” An unexpected finger points at him. “I hate you mister useless history information.”

After this short judgmental sentence he leaves. Without waiting, Jaeyun turns to him, “I didn't know you knew so much about Kafka?” I didn't know either before I met you. Everything was before you and everything was after you.

“I'm not saying I'm that deep into it, but sometimes I don't just sit in the library to study, you know.” Heeseung just sits there without interrupting the conversation, scrolling through the ridiculous shorts videos on his phone.

"You should have invited me too, together we could have cursed Kafka's father or interpreted Slyvia Plath's poems."

"Uh, you know literature isn't my field, this might not be as interesting as you expected."

“It's you,” Jaeyun shakes his head to prove Sunghoon wrong. "Nothing about you can be considered uninteresting."

“So,” Sunghoon feels a warmth, a warmth that travels from his coccyx to his spinal bones, then to his brain, then from his eyes to his chest. A warmth that Jaeyun offered to share with him. Love. Love. Love. The thing that keeps him alive. This is what Jaeyun will soon be infected with. "I can let you know when I'm going if you want."

“Yeah, yeah I’d really like that.” Jaeyun’s eyes shine, so bright that if Sunghoon looked at it long enough, it could absorb everything about him with its irises almost.

Heeseung mutters something into the peaceful silence before he leaves in a hurry. Sunghoon doesn’t mind, neither does Jaeyun, because now it’s just the two of them and the burning heat on their skin.

“Hey,” Jaeyun calls, Sunghoon looks up to him at the speed of light. “Do you think we might have met before? It's like—it doesn't feel like it's the first time.”

I know, I know. If it wasn't for that feeling of familiarity, would I be walking around with my love flowing from my pockets? Would you bring more warmth to my heart than even the sun could bring?

“No, even though I feel like there's something familiar about you,” Sunghoon points towards Jaeyun like a flower whose only mobility is to point towards the sun. "If I had seen you before, my memories would not be faded, rest assured, I would have found you before you and recall that."

“Then we should use this chance well, right?”

I told you I would find you, right?

And I told you I'd be curled up in you, as always, right?

Sunghoon blinks blankly at the audio recording his ghosts are playing inside him. The only chance, this chance, the first chance and maybe the last.

“Do you wanna go for an ice cream?”

Jaeyun approves him with the enthusiasm of a little child, and the cherry red coloring his lips turns into the most beautiful color Sunghoon has ever seen in his life.

The warmth rises and rises and rises, rising up to his palate until the only thing rising inside him is Sim Jaeyun for only a few months. But nowadays, it seems like it has turned into a whole century in the blink of an eye. It is rising, rising and rising, Sim Jaeyun is wrapping his being up to his irises like an ivy inside him, it is rising, something sacred inside him, a love is rising. And Sunghoon knows that the lie that they haven't found each other before is just a pre-negotiated game played by God.