H A N E U L 하늘 | jjk + kth

二

KIM TAEHYUNG IS A DRUG.

Jeongguk remembers his first day in Seoul.

    It started with him waking up at home, realizing he never sat an alarm and sudden panic washing over him. He missed his train.

    His mom, who was still fast asleep in her room, had left the television on, the loud booming sound managing to pull him from his awkward sleeping position at the dining room table, swamped with open books and a pencil still gripped in his hand.

    That day he was scheduled to leave for Seoul at exactly eleven in the morning, but the clock sat before his eyes, mocked him with the cursed 11:45am displayed brightly, changing every minute as the time continued, never waiting for anyone.

    Jeongguk never bothered getting dressed, brushing his teeth, or even washing his face.  He hurriedly grabbed his luggage and rushed out the door.  He didn't realize how many steps of leaving he had forgotten.  He didn't realize, at least not in the moment, that it'd be years before he ever even thought of returning. 

He was different then.

    Jeongguk remembers how easily he could forget things; how immature and young he was.  Not physically, but rather mentally.  He was susceptible to believing in things that would never come.

He was so goddamn different.

    He managed to board the next train to Seoul just in time, comfortably sitting down and staring at his empty, bare hands.  He hadn't realized how cold it really was this time of year until today, when his gloves and jacket were nowhere in sight.  His mom promised to bring the rest of his luggage to him within the next week.

His mom.

Jeongguk had forgotten to say farewell to his mom.

Jeongguk had forgotten to ask his mother to see him off, so, as he sat on the monorail, cold hands being his only comfort, Jeongguk found himself crying.  His glossy cheeks displaying to the other passengers how vulnerable he was.  A young boy, on his way to the city, and yet, he couldn't make it a few miles without already crying.  Seoul would remember this.  Seoul would remember how weak Jeongguk was, and it would take advantage of that until Jeongguk had enough.

He remembers arriving at his dorm, placing his luggage down and sniffling softly as he eyed the empty space on the left side, yet the opposing end was fairly lived in already.

Jeongguk vaguely remembers comparing his belongings to the expensive decorations littering his roommates end, and he felt more envious than he had ever before.  Jeongguk never liked the better off.  He never liked how easy it was for them.  How they never cared about anything, they never had to.

His mother was always sick or exhausted, for god knows why, so Jeongguk spent most of his nights working.  He spent late evenings working, and during the day he would attend school.  He remembers being so stressed about everything that he numbed his feelings by engaging in fights, by sleeping around, by breaking himself down until he couldn't differentiate pleasure and pain.  That way, he would never have to tell which one he was feeling.  That way, even if he was hurting, he wouldn't know.

He wasn't a bad kid; he knew his limits.  He never got caught, it'd be too much for his mother to handle, so he remained discreet.  If he had bruises during fights, he made sure to have them in spots where he could hide.

Jeongguk didn't like people who lived happy lives.

Maybe that's because he felt he couldn't ever experience that.

    Jeongguk would soon grow to know, that Seoul feels the same.  The sprawling city lights and infinite buildings clouded the air and sunk it's teeth into you. No matter who you are, pain is out there to be felt.  It's out there, and it's not going to wait to pick someone.  It's chosen randomly and there's no way to escape it.