[tw: depression, self-hatred, self-harm, mentioned past abuse, rape, torture, pedophilia]

☾

Everything was back. He had spent years pushing those ugly memories into the most hidden corners of his mind, years of suppressing things he thought he had kept at bay until they became harmless. Now they crowded his thoughts and dreams like hungry, restless beasts, and he was incapable of ignoring them.

He woke up breathless, gulping for air but unable to fill his lungs; he woke up screaming the name of a man he had sworn to forget, yet it danced on his tongue like a cruel melody. He relived that night with Woobin, trapped in his mind, until the seconds he had spent locked in that bathroom stretched into hours, until the pounding on the door felt like days and Woobin's hands hurting him became weeks. He imagined taking one of the kitchen knives and piercing his ear until it reached his brain, hoping to stop the flow of memories. He dreamed of smashing his head against the wall until his skull shattered, his brain falling to the floor with a damp thud. He fantasized about pouring a tank of petrol over his body and striking a match, letting the flames consume his mind.

He managed to find three blades hidden in a place Yeosang hadn't discovered, he placed them in his palm, closing it into a tight fist. He watched as blood dripped onto the marble sink while his screams filled the room.

He wasn't going to The Nest anymore, and he knew Yeosang was taking a lot of time off to be with him. He felt guilty for that, but it wasn't enough to lift his spirits. His mind kept vomiting memories, drowning everything else: people, situations, and moments he thought he had long forgotten. Old flavors resurfaced on his tongue like magic, and he could smell scents belonging to a time he thought he couldn't remember. He was drowning, realizing that nothing could stop it. The self-harm wasn't working; he couldn't numb himself because the alcohol had completely disappeared from their apartment, along with all the medicines. Sleep wasn't an option either because his nights had become worse than his days.

When darkness fell, he found himself praying to a God he had stopped believing in years ago: Please, help me! Help me, help me! Please, he begged. But if there was someone out there, they weren't listening, because the monsters continued to feast and proliferate inside his mind.

He hated himself for being so naïve. There had been a time when he thought he could escape, when he believed San was right—that he could find happiness too. He had tried. For the past two years, he had fought with all his might. He had tried to be different; he had tried to be better. But in the end, he had failed.

He couldn't face his friends, he knew Hongjoong and Seonghwa came to their apartment more than once—he could hear them. But each time he thought about stepping outside his room, a wave of nausea washed over him. The weight of their concern felt like a suffocating blanket, and he couldn't bear the thought of their pitying eyes. Luckily Yeosang didn't let them inside of the room. He was the only one that could open that door and walk through it, but even when he did their conversations were sparse and strained.

Wooyoung could feel the tension in the air, the way Yeosang's eyes searched his face for signs of hope, for any flicker of the boy he used to be. But each time he tried to speak, the words became stuck in his throat, choked by fear and shame.

Days turned into weeks, and Wooyoung found himself trapped in a cycle of despair. He resented the sunlight that streamed through his window, illuminating the shadows that loomed in his mind. Every bright moment felt like a betrayal, a reminder of a happiness that now seemed so far out of reach.

Yeosang would knock gently on the door, his voice soft and reassuring. "Woo, it's me. Can I come in?" But Wooyoung often found himself frozen in silence, too consumed by his thoughts to respond. He felt like a ghost haunting the remnants of his former life, a mere specter who had lost the will to engage with the world.

Whenever Yeosang did manage to breach the barrier he had erected around himself, Wooyoung would struggle to maintain eye contact, his gaze drifting to the floor or the walls. He could see the concern etched on Yeosang's face, the worry lines deepening as he tried to coax Wooyoung into conversation. "You're stronger than this," he would say, his voice thick with emotion, "I believe in you"

But how could Wooyoung believe in himself when he felt so shattered, so irreparably broken? He wanted to respond, to tell Yeosang how much those words meant, but the heaviness in his heart kept him locked in silence. The love and support from his friend felt like a lifeline he couldn't grasp, a flicker of light he was too afraid to reach for.

And yet, it didn't matter how much Wooyoung kept pushing him away, Yeosang resolve was unwavered. He kept knocking on his door, opening silently even if Wooyoung didn't reply. "Woo, can you eat something?" Yeosang would ask each time he entered, placing a small bowl of rice on the bedside table. Wooyoung would shake his head, the effort feeling monumental, as if each movement required a reservoir of energy he no longer possessed. The thought of food felt foreign, a mundane task overshadowed by the chaos inside his mind.

Yet one afternoon, after what felt like an eternity of silence and stifled emotions, something shifted within him. Wooyoung glanced at the bowl, the pale grains sitting untouched and still. For the first time in weeks, a sliver of hunger gnawed at his stomach. It was faint but insistent, and before he could overthink it, he reached for the spoon.

"Just a few bites," Yeosang encouraged, his voice steady and warm. "You're doing great, Woo"

Wooyoung managed to take a few spoonfuls of the tasteless rice, and with each bite, a small weight lifted from his heart. He could feel Yeosang's eyes on him, bright with hope, and for the first time, he didn't feel entirely alone. After those few bites, the tension in the air seemed to ease, even if only slightly.

"See? You can do this," Yeosang smiled, pride radiating from him as he reached for the bowl again. "Just one more. You're getting stronger"

Wooyoung wanted to believe that, wanted to feel the strength returning to him, but the numbing haze still loomed large. Even small victories felt overshadowed by the vastness of his struggles.

As the days passed, the routine began to evolve. Yeosang started helping him with more than just meals. The first time Yeosang suggested a shower, Wooyoung's stomach twisted with dread. The thought of standing beneath the spray of water felt insurmountable, a task that felt designed to remind him of how fragile he had become. "I can't," he whispered, pulling the blanket tighter around himself.

"Please, Woo. Just try. I'll be right here," Yeosang urged, his voice firm yet gentle.

But the thought of Yeosang being there, witnessing him naked and vulnerable, with all his flaws laid bare, sent a wave of nausea rolling through Wooyoung's stomach. The first time Yeosang reached out to help him, Wooyoung recoiled instinctively, pushing him away, "Don't touch me!" he had screamed, the words tearing from him with a mixture of anger and fear.

Yeosang had stepped back, hurt flashing in his eyes, but he didn't leave. He stayed, silent and patient, allowing Wooyoung to vent his emotions. It was a struggle, each time Wooyoung felt the heat of Yeosang's hands on his skin igniting a storm of shame and discomfort.

In those moments, Wooyoung would cry, the tears flowing freely as he grappled with the memories of what had been done to him, of how he had been hurt and betrayed. He felt so weak, so small under the weight of those memories, and the warmth of Yeosang's hands was a stark contrast to the coldness that enveloped him.

Yet slowly, something began to change. Yeosang didn't give up; he kept asking gently, coaxing Wooyoung out of his shell, offering his support without pressuring him, "I'm here, Woo. I won't hurt you" he would say softly, kneeling by the edge of the bed, his eyes sincere and filled with love.

One day, after a particularly heavy night of nightmares, Wooyoung finally relented, his body too exhausted to fight anymore. Yeosang helped him to the bathroom, his hands steadying Wooyoung when his legs trembled. As the water cascaded down, it felt overwhelming at first—the spray cold and startling against his skin—but Yeosang remained close, his presence reassuring.

"Just breathe, Woo. I've got you," he murmured, and Wooyoung felt the tension in his body begin to release, if only a little.

It was in those moments that Wooyoung began to accept Yeosang's touch. It didn't hurt as much; the warmth of Yeosang's hands on his shoulders became a comfort rather than a source of fear. They navigated the shower together, Yeosang helping him stand and gently rinsing away the remnants of his despair.

With each drop of water that washed over him, Wooyoung felt like he was shedding a layer of the darkness that had clung to him for so long. He was still fragile, still haunted, but there was a small ember of hope flickering in his chest.

As days turned to weeks, the process became easier, and Wooyoung found himself leaning into Yeosang's touch instead of pulling away. "You're doing so well," Yeosang would say, a proud smile lighting up his face as Wooyoung managed to stand a little longer, take a few more steps. Each small victory felt like a triumph, but there was still a heaviness in Wooyoung's heart that he couldn't shake.

One afternoon, as they sat together in the dim light of the room, Yeosang broached a topic that had been lingering in the air. "You know, San keeps coming by almost every night," he said carefully, gauging Wooyoung's reaction, "He really wants to see you. You should talk to him"

The mention of San sent a jolt of fear through Wooyoung, and he instinctively shook his head. "No," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, "I can't"

"Why not?" Yeosang pressed gently, leaning closer. "San loves you, Woo. He's worried about you"

The lump in Wooyoung's throat tightened, and he felt a tremor run through his body as he struggled to form the words. "He'll be disgusted with me," he confessed, his voice cracking under the strain. The memories clawed at him, each recollection more painful than the last, and his hands shook at the thought of speaking it aloud. "What they did... What I did..." the words felt like knives in his throat, and he couldn't bring himself to articulate the full weight of his experiences. "I can't face him. I'm disgusting, he will hate me for—"

He couldn't finish the sentence. The fear of revealing too much, of opening up the floodgates to the horrors buried deep within him, left him trembling. Each heartbeat felt like a reminder of everything he had endured, and he turned his gaze away, unable to bear the thought of Yeosang seeing the turmoil raging inside him.

They will despise you. If they know what you did they will leave. The voice inside his head kept repeating, the memories of all that had happened felt like claws inside of his skull.

"Woo..." a gentle hand brushed his making him jolt. "What happened to you is not your fault. Nothing will change how San sees you—how I see you," Yeosang said, his tone firm yet compassionate, "He loves you for who you are, not for what happened to you. Nobody blames you for what Woobin—"

"It's not just Woobin—" he could feel the words burn as they left his throat, "I did horrible things, Sangie. What I did... I let him—"

His stomach churned violently, the bile rising as he fought against the urge to vomit. The shame that clung to him like a heavy shroud threatened to suffocate him, and he pressed his palm against his mouth, suppressing a wave of nausea. "I can't say it... I can't!" the panic surged through him, a visceral reaction to the thought of laying bare the darkness that engulfed him.

Wooyoung felt a cold sweat trickle down his back as he gripped the sheets, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "What if he finds out? What if they all find out?" The thought twisted like a knife in his gut, and he squeezed his eyes shut, fighting against the urge to break down completely. The weight of his secrets felt unbearable, and he feared that sharing even a fragment of them would shatter the fragile illusion of safety he had built around himself.

Yeosang clutched Wooyoung's hand tightly, his warm grip grounding him as he urged, "Breathe, Woo. Just breathe" Wooyoung tried to follow his friend's instructions, inhaling deeply through his nose and exhaling shakily through his mouth, but the panic clawed at him relentlessly. Each breath felt like it was caught in his throat, and the darkness threatened to pull him under once more.

As Wooyoung finally steadied himself, he felt Yeosang rise to his feet, and a wave of confusion washed over him. "W-what are you—" he began, but the words died on his lips as he gasped at the sight before him. Yeosang had unbuttoned his jeans, pulling them down and revealing his right leg.

The scars were everywhere, thick and pale against his skin, telling a story of pain that was both shocking and profound. Wooyoung's breath hitched, the reality of Yeosang's past crashing down upon him like a tidal wave. He had known what happened to Yeosang, but seeing the physical evidence of that trauma laid bare was something entirely different. "Oh God..." Wooyoung whispered, his heart aching at the sight.

"It took me years to be able to look at myself in the mirror when I left the hospital," Yeosang said quietly, his gaze fixed on the scars as if he could still feel the ghost of the pain that lingered there. "I hated my body for what it had endured, for what I had become. There were days when I didn't recognize myself, and I thought I would never feel whole again"

Wooyoung's eyes widened, filled with empathy and sorrow. He listened intently as Yeosang continued, his voice steady yet laced with the weight of memories.

"I kept repeating that I did this to myself, that I was the one to blame," Yeosang continued, his voice barely above a whisper. "When Soohyun left me, all I could do was numb myself until I was so fucked up that I couldn't even recognize who I was with. I thought that I could forget him like this—drinking, getting high, fucking random people until I was so sore I could barely stand. I don't remember much of that night, I remember being with a client in an alley outside of a club... I think I passed out there, I don't know... I don't even remeber how I got inside of that house... If I followed him willingly or if he had to drag me there" his gaze drifted away, lost in the shadows of his past, as the memories seemed to flood back.

"That man..." he paused, "He kept me there for weeks, Woo... When he tortured me, when he raped me, he kept repeating that it was my fault, that I deserved it because of the path that I chose, and I belived him"

Yeosang's breath quickened as he recalled the brutal memories. "He would tie me up, leaving me exposed and vulnerable, then he'd use whatever he could find—belts, wires, anything sharp—to hurt me. I remember the sting of each strike, the searing pain as it cut into my skin, marking me like I was nothing more than an object. He'd make me beg for mercy, taunting me as he inflicted bruises and lacerations that felt like fire spreading across my body. I can still feel the hot metal he pressed against my flesh, the way it burned and bubbled, leaving scars that would remind me of my helplessness. He shattered my bones, he kept hitting my legs until I heard the sickening crack, forcing me to apologize as he hurt me, to say I was sorry for who I was, for what I did..."

He paused again to regain his breath, Wooyoung could see how his lower lip trembled as he did, "The physical wounds were nothing compared to the scars he left on my mind. I felt like a shell, a puppet in his cruel game, stripped of my will and forced to endure unspeakable horrors. I still hear his voice sometimes, whispering those lies into my ear"

Wooyoung shook his head, unable to hold back any longer, "Sangie, it wasn't—"

"It's not my fault, I know now. But I believed it was for so long, Woo. I forgave myself but it didn't happen overnight. I spent months in therapy, learning to forgive myself for what happened and to accept that it wasn't my fault. I had to confront my past, to face the scars, both physical and emotional. It was a long and painful journey, but it taught me resilience"

He paused, his eyes scanning Wooyoung's face for understanding. "I'm here, Woo, and I want you to know that it's okay to feel broken. You don't have to hide from me. I've been where you are, and I can promise you that it gets better. I learned to love myself again, and I know you can too"

Wooyoung felt the weight of Yeosang's words pressing down on him, the pain echoing in his own heart. "If I tell you, you won't hate me?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, trembling with uncertainty.

Yeosang's gaze softened, he pulled his pants up before he sat next to Wooyoung again, their hands finding each other in a tight grip, "Never, Woo. You could never make me hate you. What you went through isn't your fault, and sharing it with me doesn't change how I feel about you"

The lump in Wooyoung's throat tightened again, and he felt tears brimming in his eyes. He swallowed hard, fighting against the swell of emotions threatening to overwhelm him. "I'm so scared, Sangie... What if you see me differently? What if you can't look at me the same way again?"

"Look at me," Yeosang urged gently, tilting Wooyoung's chin up with his fingers. "I've seen the worst of humanity, and I know what it means to feel broken. But I'm still here, standing beside you, because I believe in your strength. Your past doesn't define you. It's okay to be scared. Just take your time; I'll be right here with you"

Wooyoung scooted on his bed, lying down and making space for Yeosang to join him. Yeosang hesitated for just a moment, then settled in beside him. They didn't speak for long; the silence enveloped them like a warm blanket, offering comfort in the shared vulnerability of their experiences. As the weight of the day faded, they drifted into sleep, hands still intertwined, a lifeline connecting them even in slumber.

Yeosang didn't know how long had passed when he woke up. The darkness of the room was thick, but he could hear Wooyoung whispering softly beside him, words spilling out in a gentle stream. Yeosang stirred, straining to listen, sensing a lucidity in Wooyoung's voice that was both familiar and haunting. He didn't say a word as Wooyoung recounted the harrowing memories of his father's abuse. It took him hours, the words tumbling out with a painful hesitance. Sometimes his voice shook so violently that he couldn't continue, the weight of the past threatening to swallow him whole.

Yeosang waited patiently, his hands leaving Wooyoung's to wrap around his body instead, hugging him so tightly that it took Wooyoung's breath away. For two times, Wooyoung tried to escape from the embrace, screaming and contorting within Yeosang's grip, but Yeosang didn't let go. He patted Wooyoung's back and head until the boy gradually came back to reality, realizing where he was and who he was with: safe between the protective arms of a friend.

As Wooyoung's voice wavered and broke, Yeosang listened to stories he couldn't believe were possible. The things he heard went beyond his imagination. He had grown up in an orphanage, dreaming of a family that would love him unconditionally, yet hearing about the horrific acts a father could inflict on his own child sent goosebumps rising on his skin. Wooyoung was just a kid, yet he wasn't spared from the abominations his father reserved for him.

Wooyoung spoke of how he would scream and act out, desperate to capture his father's attention whenever he sensed a storm brewing. In those moments, he focused all his energy on making sure his father's rage was directed solely at him, using his own pain as a shield to protect his younger brother, Kyungmin. He would hide Kyungmin under their bed or inside the closet, whispering reassurances as he positioned himself to take the brunt of their father's fury. At first, it worked. His father would lash out, but the violence was contained to Wooyoung, allowing Kyungmin to remain hidden, safe from harm.

But as time went on, his father began to see through Wooyoung's tricks. One day, when Wooyoung least expected it, his father caught him off guard. With a wicked smile, he yanked Kyungmin by the hair from his hiding spot, dragging him out into the open. Wooyoung's heart dropped as he witnessed the horror unfold, his pleas for mercy falling on deaf ears as his father unleashed his anger on Kyungmin instead. Wooyoung begged him to stop, tears streaming down his face, but the more he pleaded, the more punishment he received. It was in that moment, filled with anguish and despair, that Wooyoung realized he had to try something different to protect Kyungmin.

He knew what he had to do during one of the many nights when his father came back home completely wasted. He had called Wooyoung by his mother's name, the twisted affection in his voice as he caressed Wooyoung's face, commenting on how beautiful he had grown. It was then that Wooyoung understood the darkness lurking within his father, the depths of the twisted game they were playing.

And he let that happen...

Yeosang had to strain himself not to let the tears fall from his face. "It's not your fault, Woo," he repeated over and over again, his voice a soothing balm in the dark. He wrapped his arms tighter around Wooyoung, holding him close as if he could absorb some of that pain, shielding him from the memories that threatened to consume him. "You were just a kid. You did what you thought was best for your brother"

Wooyoung's breaths came in shaky gasps, the weight of his past threatening to pull him under. But Yeosang's unwavering presence anchored him, reminding him that he was not alone in this struggle. "You fought to protect Kyungmin. That makes you strong, not weak. You survived, and that counts for something"

"He hated me for what I did" Wooyoung's voice trembled as more tears streamed down his face. He had spent years pushing them back, forbidding himself to cry, but now it seemed like they wouldn't stop. "Kyungmin hated me and he had all the rights to do so—" another broken sob shook him.

"No, baby, that's not true," Yeosang's voice was gentle yet firm, cutting through the wave of anguish pouring out of Wooyoung. He pulled him closer, his hand smoothing Wooyoung's hair as he spoke softly into his ear. "What you did was to protect him. You made sacrifices no child should ever have to make. You bore the weight of things far beyond your years. You saved him the best way you knew how"

Wooyoung shook his head, his body trembling with the force of his sobs. "He hated me, Sangie. After that night... he saw me... he saw me bent on the table as he—" a sob shook his body cutting through the memory, "He wouldn't even speak to me after that. I failed him!"

"You didn't fail him, Woo," Yeosang insisted, his voice steady despite the tears threatening to break his own resolve. "You were just a kid, trying to survive. You didn't deserve any of what happened to you. And Kyungmin didn't hate you. Maybe he didn't understand, maybe he was scared, but hate? No. You're his brother. You're all he had"

Wooyoung's sobs quieted for a moment, the words sinking in though the guilt still clung to him like a heavy cloak. "But I let it happen, Yeosang. I let that monster... I let him touch me. I thought... I thought it was the only way..."

Yeosang's heart broke at the raw vulnerability in Wooyoung's confession. He hugged him tighter, pressing his forehead against Wooyoung's, "You did what you thought you had to do to survive. To protect your brother. And that doesn't make you weak or dirty. It makes you brave, even if it doesn't feel like it. You survived, Woo. You survived, and you are still here. That is strength"

For a long while, they laid there, the weight of Wooyoung's past slowly giving way to the comfort of Yeosang's words and his unrelenting embrace. The silence that followed was no longer suffocating, but soothing, as if the room had breathed out with them.

Yeosang thought Wooyoung had fallen back to sleep but as he was about to leave his room he froze at the doorway, his hand still on the knob. He turned back to face Wooyoung that had sat up on the bed, his trembling voice cut through the stillness of the room like a fragile thread. "Don't tell him," Wooyoung whispered, his eyes barely visible in the dim light. "Don't tell San"

A knot formed in Yeosang's throat as he looked at Wooyoung lying there, so broken and vulnerable. He hesitated, torn between wanting to respect Wooyoung's wish and knowing how much San deserved to know the truth, to help. But he understood; Wooyoung wasn't ready. Not yet.

Yeosang nodded slowly, stepping back toward the bed. "I won't," he promised, his voice gentle but resolute. "I won't tell him, Woo. This is your story to share when you're ready"

Wooyoung's shoulders sagged with relief, though the weight of his pain was still palpable. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice barely audible as his eyes fluttered closed, exhaustion claiming him. His body curled inward, as if trying to shield himself from the world, from the memories that still lingered in every corner of his mind.

Yeosang watched for a moment longer, his chest tight with a mix of sorrow and helplessness. He wished he could do more, take away the burden entirely, but he knew that wasn't possible. All he could offer was his presence, his understanding, and the silent promise that Wooyoung wouldn't have to face his nightmares alone anymore. He quietly turned and left the room, his leg hurt but he tried not to make any noise, as though afraid to disturb the fragile peace that had settled over Wooyoung. The door closed with a soft click, and Yeosang leaned against it for a moment, his heart heavy with the weight of everything he'd just heard.

It was almost dawn, the faint light creeping through the curtains as Yeosang straightened his posture, feeling the weight of the night still lingering. He quietly made his way to the kitchen, rolling up his sleeves and pulling out the ingredients for a simple breakfast. Wooyoung had taken the hardest step, sharing his pain. Now, healing could begin—slowly, little by little, one day at a time.

Yeosang knew he couldn't lift the weight from Wooyoung's shoulders, but he could help him carry it, even if only by preparing a light meal to ease him into the new day. It was something small, but anything that could offer Wooyoung a sliver of comfort was worth doing. He would do anything to see his friend get better.

"He's going to get through this," Yeosang whispered to himself, his belief unshaken. The darkness wasn't gone, but there was light now. And that was enough to begin.