Myths in Fanmail

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(The three times Youngjae remembered meeting an angel, and the one time he kissed her)

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It was Daehyun’s favourite song. What the shit, really.

Youngjae hadn’t even gotten any practice, and not to mention, how Daehyun had talked him into doing it. Daehyun knew it would come out perfect for him, Daehyun hadn’t cared if Youngjae looked bad. Youngjae always looked bad. That bastard. Daehyun would always sing better, his pitch was fucking perfect and Youngjae would be the one tying everybody else down. Every single day he breathed, he had to cover up his scars; the wounds in his heart that only seemed to grow.

And for some reason, Youngjae wondered, maybe that was how that guy felt. That guy from that one ancient myth who had to watch his own creation destroy his other precious creation. Youngjae had read that book many times, the one with all the collection of greek mythologies, or was it roman? He’d gotten it by mail. It had come without a note; no note of love confessions or whatever fans usually did. Youngjae hadn’t thought of opening it when it had arrived.

There were always too many fanmails. But then when he’d seen how the simple and no-nonsense handwriting was neatly written onto the package, the way it was brown and almost normal—well, Youngjae was probably odd, but it made him curious. So, he brought it out from the storage room and tore it open during a practice break. It was a book, more of a hand-me-down sort of thing. Pretty battered, mind you. And yes, Youngjae admitted he was weird for being intrigued.

Daehyun had come along and spilt his water on it, and Youngjae wasn’t sure if that had been on purpose. He just brushed the water off of the hardcover. At least, the inked title stayed inked.

Then he was called for practice. Youngjae didn’t open it ‘til later. At the end of that week, he finally found it again, sitting all dark and no-nonsense on the coffee table of their dorm room. Youngjae wondered if somebody had read through. The book was in a better condition than the first time he’d laid hands on it. Youngjae was curious, so he picked that up.

He was supposed to visit his family that day, so he stashed it into his backpack to read when his dad came to pick him up from their dorm building.

“What have you got there, Jae?” his dad had asked, glancing over once when the light signal was still red.

Youngjae had brought it out, turning it back and forth, not opening yet. He still felt unsure for some reason. Like, it was something special and he should wait.

But then, his dad chuckled at his careful handling and commented, “Well, kid. It’s not gonna read itself. When was the last time you read anything?”

So, Youngjae forced himself to break some kind of unmade promise he had with whoever had sent it to him. It was true, what his dad implied. He hadn’t read anything, nothing apart from news articles and all the real life crap that bounded him to the words ‘useless’, ‘annoying’ and ‘BAP’. So, he opened the pages and, still, there was no note.

The traffic light turned green and Youngjae’s eyes were still trying not to focus on any word in particular. He just kept turning, because Youngjae felt he shouldn’t read this. Not now. Not unceremoniously like this.

Five minutes before they arrived in front of his family’s house—it was important to make that distinction. It was his family’s house, which Youngjae hadn’t felt a part of since a long time ago. Was he really a part of anything, really? He wasn’t part of his own family. He also didn’t feel like part of BAP. There was Daehyun, who came and took everything.

His heart hurt at the thought.

Youngjae had always been too nice. Put things up for show, try to be annoying for show, and then ended up hating everything he’d made himself into.