on pieces of dyed rays | woosan

Chapter Four

Back alley of a club is more or less the same. There are lined up trash cans, with some garbage thrown at the side thinking they would grow legs and walk in their designated place or something, it's wet with alcohol, water or whatever liquid produced in the place, it's dark with grim air whirling. Wooyoung hasn't been around clubs out of his area much, but it's all the same.

He takes a distance away from trash cans (because he hasn't come here to make friends with rats and roaches) and crouches, his back resting on the wall. It has been snowing all day, and although shallow and charred, snow has settled even in this back alley. Wooyoung huffs white air, tilting his head up and watches trickles of snow floating down the dark sky. The monotonous world and the cold that seeps through his back soothes him.

"Do you really have to be standing in the cold?"

"Technically, I'm sitting, or crouching, but yeah."

Hongjoong sighs, releasing white air, and drops his huge down coat on Wooyoung's shoulder.

"I don't need it."

"I need it," Hongjoong groans. "Looking at you with just a hoodie on chills me."

"Alright hyung." Wooyoung chuckles. "How was the show?"

Hongjoong crouches next to Wooyoung. "You know you would've known if you had just stepped in the building when you came here."

Wooyoung simply shrugs, and Hongjoong is well aware of the fact that it's useless to chide him, but he does it anyway, because he's Hongjoong.

"It was good. I think the crowd liked it."

Wooyoung hums and recalls the time when he was in the building. Hongjoong standing in the DJ booth with his favourite old-fashioned headphone (that he claims has a good bass resonance or something) over his one ear, playing his bass heavy song livening up the crowd. That is good music. Call it biased or whatever, but Wooyoung is sure it's good music when it's produced by Hongjoong.

"As expected of you."

"So much for supporting your friend by not attending, Wooyoung," Hongjoong scoffs.

"Seonghwa hyung must have been there for you. Don't be greedy," Wooyoung teases, giving a tap on Hongjoong's nose, who gives a disgusted frown. "Also hyung, I've been bathing in loud music every night. Spare my ears for once, hm?"

"Do not call my music loud." He pinches Wooyoung's cheek to which he feigns pain by whining loudly. "Fuck, you're so cold."

Wooyoung pats his cheek to ease almost non-existent pain caused by Hongjoong, but he doesn't feel the cold. Not when his fingers are equally frozen and numb.

"So how have you been?"

Wooyoung looks up once again. Snow is still dancing around, and he wonders if the earth would be a little taller by tomorrow.

"The usual. It's always the same." He breathes, and sees the white slowly dissolving in the black night sky.

"Anything?" Hongjoong presses.

"Nothing," Wooyoung says, and bites at the fact that his life is, indeed, boring.

Ironically, his life did consist of elements that could potentially make a movie; being born and raised under a junkie abusive mother (tragedy), taken away and entrapped in an indoctrinating Christian orphanage (more tragedy), falling into the world of underground (spicing up the tragedy), selling drugs, paying monthly fees to his boss, receiving pocket money, rinse and repeat.

But Wooyoung knew that, from watching movies on an old TV planted in the office, such movies needed an upswing. Recovering from corruption and becoming a good, successful human. Or, like 'Joker', the evil turning to an evil God.

Either way, he knew he'd achieve none, for he is nothing but one of the rats that crawls in rotten alleys that no light can reach.

Hongjoong swishes a packet of cigarettes from his back pocket, pulls out one, holds it with his lips and lights it up.

"That thing kills you," Wooyoung warns.

"Who's talking?" He releases white air, this time it's not a vapour but smoke.

"I don't smoke, don't drink excessively, don't trip."

"But what you're doing can, Wooyoung-ah." Hongjoong shifts his eyes to him. "You know that."

He's at it again. Wooyoung likes Hongjoong, undoubtedly, but when he comes to talk about this, Wooyoung feels the urge to stitch his mouth with a sharp needle. It's a pointless conversation with no exit.

"Hyung, I'm fine." He sighs. "You know I'm good at dodging. I've only had four minor cases, which doesn't even involve life."

He's lying. He had a few more, which may or may not have been critical, but those happened after Hongjoong had left, and he doesn't have to know.

"Doesn't mean it won't happen."

Wooyoung exhales deeply. "Hyung."

"If I didn't drag you-"

"Hyung." Wooyoung's voice rises unexpectedly, and Hongjoong seals his lips. "I made the choice, and I don't regret it."

"Hyung! Wait!"

"Do not call me hyung."

"But hyung, I don't know your name."

"And you'll never know my name. Just go back to your sweet and warm home. Stop messing with me."

"What home?"

"Just...where you eat and piss and sleep. Just get lost."

"I don't have a home."

"...I know that old woman from an orphanage was desperately looking for a boy like you. You want me to shove you up her nose?"

"That's not my home."

"Save me from this rebel drama shit. I don't have time to accompany you wanting to be a brat."

"They make me pray to God. They say that God will solve everything as long as I believe in him."

"Yeah, yeah, good for you."

"But if God always does right, then why was I born?"

"......"

"Hyung, that is not my home. I never had one."

"...Just go."

Hongjoong still faces him with that worrisome look. Wooyoung honestly wonders how he was one of them when he's too caring like this. Then again, Wooyoung did take advantage of this caring side of him.

"I'm fine," Wooyoung presses. "Really."

"I'm just letting you know that I'll have your back whenever you decide to quit." He breathes in another toxic air, lets it linger in his lungs until he huffs it out.

"I'm not ready to lose my precious ten fingernails like you."

"Sometimes, you need to lose things to realise its importance," Hongjoong says. "It comes back all the more prettier, don't you agree?"

He gives a cocky smile and displays his left hand to Wooyoung. His five nails are painted in black, his trademark, because some things never change.

Wooyoung hums in agreement, because within the familiar blackness, he sees glitters shimmering, and yes, they are pretty, almost like stars adorning the dark sky.