our trail of gold ; jeongcheol

Chapter 4

The sound echoed through the dull painted room, reverberating off the closely constructed walls and pale lime green wallpaper that adorned each side. The boy held his cheek where his father punched him, bruise rapidly forming, black and blue and a harsh red undertone. His eyes brimmed tears, eye lashes furling and lips curling to a loud pout. A frustrated and terrified sob pushed through, while his father stared with contempt.

"You fucking girl. You're a disgrace to the Yoon name. I don't know why my wife birthed you, this...this..."

The man broke off when his wife came into the room, her average body running to her son's side to press the cool palm of her hand against his injured cheek. It was her pale skin against his ivory tone, and it made his father sneer even more at the comparison.

"Look at this. Look at his face. Look at his body. Look at that pale skin. Look at the hair and lips and eyes. What have you given me woman? I ask for a son and you give me something that does not resemble it. This is derision and damnation. This should not exist, this...thing."

"Dad..." the boy whispered, tears trailing down the softness of his cheeks and leaving a clear line in the powder like complexion. "Please..."

"Get the fuck out before I beat every inch of you. Get out!"

"Go on Hannie," his mother murmured to his ears, fingers reaching up to trail upon raven locks. She caressed the strands lovingly for a minute, watching the beauty she had birthed and raised. His beauty was incomparable to any woman, but she loved him just the same. His soft nature yet brashness, his father had yet to know him; all the man saw was the picture of a frail boy stuck in the body and daintiness of a female. "Go on out," she urged, "I'll meet you outside."

The young boy stood up, legs trembling, and hastily cast a glance at his father before running out of the room. The door remained open, the stench from inside the room heavy in the scent of lemon grass and jasmine. She could smell the faint vanilla and cinnamon from the top of her son's head, and the green tea from his breath that she brewed earlier that day.

Her husband looked just as dull as the painted backdrop. His narrowed views made her sigh at his cold world, but she knew the power thrumming in him, the authority and commandments pulsing within his blood. She lifted her head and reached out to wrap her arms around his shoulders, ignoring the stiffness that went through his large body. Their skins were cold against each other, but she withstood it until his heartbeat softened and his breaths were no longer harsh against her neck.

—

Sun filtered through in flickers, the golden hue of his curtains giving rise to a bright greeting as soon as his eyes dared to venture open. His vision blurred and he groaned, gripping his coverlet to shroud his face and sight. His legs kicked through, and he hissed in annoyance and gave into the atmosphere of a new day.

"Fuck," Junhui muttered to himself, mouth touching the material of his bedspread. A few hours of sleep did nothing for his barely hanging sanity and still alcohol induced mind, and the rancid taste of rum swelled his tongue and sliced his throat. He turned to pull off his sheet and blanket, the thick and thin of the two different spreads shrugging off to his hips.

He remembered getting drunk when he came back to his apartment, ruffled and confused as he had left Hyori's restaurant. Seungcheol had left as suddenly as he came, and when the man had disappeared it was Junhui who remained to handle a distraught Hyori. Her inner expressiveness of pain seared through to his soul, but he partially pinned the blame on his friend herself for loving a man she knew that did not reciprocate her affections.