Runaway || Boy x Boy ||

1 하나 1

My whole life, people have told me I've got talent. I have a future prepared for me. As soon as I graduate, my life will become a huge success. I had no dreams, so what people told me I believed. Taking on my fathers business company was my future, my only goal. It wasn't my dream, but then again I had none.

One day, I came out.
I told my father I wasn't like the other boys, because I had no attraction to women.
I was, and forever will be, gay.

My father and mother never looked at me the same again. I was outcast, destined to be the heir to the throne that my father said "Would doom our company." I didn't get it. What did it matter? If I liked men, I liked men. Apparently, it mattered a lot.

I thought living and dying alone wouldn't be that bad, because I didn't want to marry anyone that wasn't a man. But I wasn't even aloud to live a life of pure solitude.

When I was nineteen my father told me he was arranging a marriage for me. I refused. He got angry, telling me I was a "disgrace to the family" and I "was sure to burn in Hell." By then I felt unwanted and unloved by my family, so I gave up trying. I didn't want to be the perfect heir, perfect businessman, perfect son — I didn't want to be their son at all.

Running away is immature. Running away is what a pesky five year old says it's going to do if it doesn't get a cookie. It puts goldfish crackers and Five Alive in a small Disney schoolbag and runs three blocks before it starts crying and running back home. Running away is never something to do to solve your problems.
But my future is set in stone, unless I change it myself. The only way I can change it now... is to take myself out of the picture. I could kill myself, or restart. I don't want to die yet, I haven't done anything. I haven't done enough. The only way to get out of it was running away.

So far from what I've learned in running away is:

1) pack more clothes then just what you've got on your back

2) bring more then a few hundred dollars

3) water. Take water

I know these things because I forgot to do all of them. I only took enough money with me to get on a plane to Canada, I don't even have enough to get back home. I've been wearing the same jeans/sneakers/sweater combo for weeks, and I don't have any water. I've kept myself hidden and sheltered behind a small coffee shop, and the two women running it frequently check on me. They're nice, very nice. I know fluent English, but I have trouble with pronunciation so they sometimes don't understand what I'm trying to say. Without them.. chances are I'd be dead.

Today is a particularly cold day. Where at home I could have been taking a nice hot shower or reading a book by the large penthouse window, I am instead huddled up in the alleyway, knees pulled to my chest, hands stuffed up into my sleeves, burying my face in my jeans. The wind rattles through the alley, and the chain link fence up behind the coffee shop rattles along with the wind. I pull up my hood, tightening the strings. My ears hurt from the cold air and my feet feel numb in my shoes.

"What are you doing back here?" I look up to see a boy with pale mahogany hair walking towards me, shoving a pair of earbuds into his pocket. He's wearing a blue jersey featuring some sports team or school mascot I don't know, black sweatpants and colorful worn out sneakers. A black bag almost exactly like mine is pulled up on both of his shoulders.

"Can you speak English?" He asks me. My lips are so dry they've stuck together, and it hurts pulling them apart. But what am I supposed to do, ignore him? Not answer?
"A little," I respond, my voice somewhat cracking.
"Do you have a place to stay?" He asks. This is a polite way of him asking if I'm homeless. I do not consider myself homeless. I have a home, I'm just not able to be there. I can't be there. I can't put that into words he'll understand.
"Not here." I reply.
"Where do you live?" He asks.
"Korea."
"Korea..." he repeats.
"You're pretty far from home then, eh?" He asks with a chuckle. I nod, pouting slightly.
"Sorry, it's not funny. Did you run away or something?" He asks, leaning in closer to me. I nod. It's all I can do.
"Come here," He says, standing up and holding out his hand. I'm confused at first. Why should I trust him? I don't know him, I only just met him. Why should he trust me? He obviously thinks I'm homeless.
"Why?" I ask, pulling my arms up to my face.
"Because I know what it's like." He says, his face serious. "I ran away too. My name's Abbott. But, call me Abbey." His hand is still outstretched for me. There's no time for me to think it over now, so I grab his hand. When he pulls me to my feet, I realize we're literally almost the same height, he's just a couple inches taller. He smiles at me.
"Come on, I have a small place a couple of blocks from here." He says, nodding to his left; my right.