Forbidden Desire | sunsun

12

Sunoo wakes to a quiet bedroom. He sits up slowly, staring out of the open curtains. They billow softly, a cold breeze sweeping under through the satin. It suddenly feels too cold and he stands, shivering as he holds the sheets close to himself. He closes the curtains to keep out the wind and then stands there in the darkness, waiting for the warmth to return.

It's my birthday , he thinks. He'd always associated it with the beginning of autumn, even if it didn't truly begin until the end of September. By the time the month began, the heat had already begun to retreat, pulling back from the house until it's tinged with the promise of winter.

Maybe he should feel more, but all he feels is nothing. He dresses quietly and collects his breakfast on a tray from outside his bedroom door. It's cubed tofu and an omelet with a glass of tea and Sunoo sits on the edge of his bed to eat, staring through the open door, hoping Sunghoon will pass by. He doesn't know if he's awake yet, but he can't help but be hopeful.

Maybe Sunghoon will remember that it's his birthday.

Cottontail , he thinks, feeling his cheeks warm and his heart pound faster. Sunghoon had called him his cottontail. Setting his chopsticks down he drags a hand down his face with a sigh. It feels dangerous to let himself think of it. The fantasy hurts the most — knowing there's something he wants that could be taken from him. Even if Sunghoon wanted him back, there's no promise he'd stay.

Sunghoon had offered him a new beginning with him, but what did that even mean? What kind of promise would that be?

Sunoo is scared to accept it.

When he's finished his breakfast he leaves the tray on the ground at the foot of his door, walking past towards the staircase. He listens for Sunghoon, but all he gets back is silence as he walks down the stairs, feeling his weight press heavily into the wood. He does that a lot these days — hoping to hear Sunghoon walking through the house in case he might see him.

Sunoo had never celebrated his birthday, but now he wishes he knew what it was like to be happy about getting older. What it would be like to receive a new book or a box of chocolates for himself. Little things that other people take for granted. It's the little things Sunoo misses out on the most.

He feels bitter — on edge — as he slides through the hallway. Maybe it's the fact that it's his birthday or the acknowledgement that he's older than he was before with nothing to show for it. He feels angry , even, and stops in front of one of his father's bookshelves, staring up at the cracked spines.

The books are the reason why, aren't they? They're the reason he's had to live in darkness his entire life. They're his fathers empire — a representation of everything he's accumulated and will one day pass on to Sunoo. They fill the house in every hallway and corner, overflowing into the bedrooms and stacking up against the ceiling.

Useless paper and ink bought with money his father didn't deserve. Each book was born out of someone else's labour that Sunoo's father had taken from. The properties he amassed and the buildings he monopolized until all of New York city belonged to him were all hosts he drained the life from to funnel into his books.

And what is it all even for? Sunoo wonders. When does it end?

He sees the blood-hungry way his father's friends eye him, like they want a piece. The glamour of the lifestyle at parties draws people in until it eats them alive and they're left soulless and empty, but by then they're still hungry so they eat and eat the money they're given until there's nothing left for them to take.