brief mentions of physical abuse, description of murder, homophobia, suicide threat

* * *

Dinner at the Jung's was quiet and rather uneventful, but something in Wooyoung knew that it was only the calm before the storm. Yebin wasn't around -- she was still at her college, and his father barely uttered a word before he'd excused himself.

Even with the silence, Wooyoung's body was tense. Especially when he could feel his mother's eyes on him. He knew she'd seen him with his friends, with San, so before she could bring up the topic or try to infiltrate his mind with her unneeded negativity, Wooyoung promptly pushed his chair to the back and sat up.

"I'm heading to my room." Wooyoung freaking hated his parents and what they stood for, but even with that he still struggled to raise his voice after he'd been violently reprimanded for it as a child. He detested the hold those people had over him and over his actions. He couldn't wait to finally get away from them as soon as the time came.

Mrs Jung reached out to touch Wooyoung's palm. Her manicured, thin hands looked awfully dainty for all the slaps and hits she'd delivered when she'd felt physical abuse did much more wonders than shouting and spewing verbal daggers. Now, she just preferred preying on Wooyoung's insecurities, insulting and tearing him down whenever she could.

Wooyoung, on instinct, recoiled his hand. He wanted to walk away from his mother, wanted her to stop looking at him like he was some bad, wounded dog that she wanted to help get back up on its feet.

"Sit down please, son," his mother spoke, her familiar velvet-like voice low and persuasive. She tried to sound like she was pleading, but her voice came out all manipulative and forceful. She was like contaminated honey, her exterior sweet and comforting until she drowned you in all her toxins. So many times had a young and naive Wooyoung wished that they'd shared a moment like this -- a moment where his mother would actually look at him like a mom, hold him close and protect him from all the bad things in the world. Of course Wooyoung knew his father was nothing but a lost cause since the beginning, but he'd longed for his mother to see him as her son for once.

Wooyoung hadn't even asked for her love, just her acceptance. But it never came.

And now, as she stared at him through her stupid insincere motherly eyes, all he could think was fake. His mother was fake. Everything was fake.

Wooyoung's jaw clenched, wanting so badly to grab his dinner plate and smash it against the ground. Maybe then she'd look at him as something else other than an inconvenience. Fear even seemed like a better option.

"I need to do some homework," Wooyoung forced out, hoping his lie would slip through the cracks.

"Sit down," his mother said again. Like a jaded chameleon, her true colours were seeping out. Her smile was gone (like it's presence actually made a difference), her eyes dark and hungry to ruin.

Wooyoung and Yebin had inherited most of their features from her, and at that moment Wooyoung had never hated his face so much. When he looked at his mother, at her narrowed eyes and the disgruntled, disgusted downward pull of her lips, he wondered if that was how he appeared to others when he was in a bad or irritable mood. Maybe that was why people assumed him to be a hateful and judgemental character even from the start. He'd gotten it all from her.

Wooyoung sat, tapping his finger on the clothed table in a mismatched rhythm that perfectly described his heartbeat at that very second.

"I saw you out with your friends this late afternoon," Mrs Jung began, spitting out the 'friends' like it made her sick.

What? What do you want? What do you fucking want from me? Wooyoung inhaled a haggard breath. "...Yeah."

"Look at me, son. I want to see your face while I'm talking," his mother sternly requested.

Wooyoung looked up then, before jumping on the table and kicking off all the plates and utensils in a raging, maddened stupor. After that he reached out and violently grabbed his mother by the hair and dragged her across the floor, flinging her to the wall with enough strength that made all her bones snap. And as she bled out, her soul slowly leaving her body, Wooyoung bent his knees and gave her a cruel smile, before doing her the honours and finally taking her out of her misery.

"...oung...Wooyoung... Wooyoung!"

Wooyoung slowly blinked, and there he was again, in front of his frowning mother. Her face was still intact with no blood present, unless her half-done medium-rare steak counted.

His mother's face darkened. "Don't tell me you zoned out while I was talking to you."

Wooyoung commenced the tapping of his fingers. "Sorry."

A brief moment of silence passed, filled with Mrs Jung disappointedly watching her son. But then she must've felt that Wooyoung didn't give a shit about her stares anymore, because she decided to speak up.

"That boy you were with..." Wooyoung felt his heartbeat pick up. "The one with bright purple hair. Is he a homosexual?"

Wooyoung's fingers stopped tapping. He didn't like the way that woman talked about San with such disdain. "Hair doesn't make anyone straight or gay -- "

"Answer the question, Wooyoung," his mother snapped.

Wooyoung nonchalantly shrugged, willing himself to think about San in order not to fucking flip out. "I dunno."

Mrs Jung released an exasperated sigh. "Are you two friends?"

Wooyoung kept his expression neutral, one he'd perfected because he'd learnt long ago that people like his parents solely existed just to pounce and feed on any and all weaknesses. Family didn't matter to them. "...We talk sometimes, yeah."

"Then you should know if he's one of those barbaric homosexuals," his mother replied. "And he sure looks like one, too."

Wooyoung couldn't take it anymore -- he snapped. "How the hell does homosexuality have a 'look'? I'm sorry, but why the absolute fuck are we even talking about this right now? People's sexuality is none of our fucking business to begin with, but here you are acting like I can't hang out with guy friends again!"

"Stop talking!" His mother shrieked, but Wooyoung was already on his feet, pushing against his chair with added force. "Sit your ass back down Wooyoung, or heaven forbid I make you regret ever talking back to me."

"You don't own me!" Wooyoung exclaimed, his mental pain taking an immense toll on him. He grabbed a glass cup and flew it towards the ground, the harsh sound battling with the chaotic instability of his mind. "You don't fucking own me. Nobody does! You don't get to tell me what I can and cannot do!" He grabbed a plate and did the same thing he did with the cup by smashing and scattering it over the tiled floors.

Mrs Jung had already stood up, staring at him with such hatred that would've made young Wooyoung falter. But Wooyoung wasn't a child anymore.

"What is the meaning of this?!" His father's loud voice bellowed from the hallway. Wooyoung immediately snatched the small knife on the table.

"Of course, when I was in preschool or w-whatever," Wooyoung continued to speak. His hand shook, holding on to the knife so tight his knuckles turned pale, "I played around a lot with the girls, and they liked hanging out with me too. But you know what you said, mom?" Wooyoung's teeth clattered, an intense headache pounding in his head. "You told me to stay away from them, because that'd make me gay. And I fucking believed you."

His mother continued to stare at him apathetically, like she didn't even care.

"Wooyoung! What is this mess!" His father shouted, only for shock to fall over his face when Wooyoung pointed the knife at him.

"Don't fucking come close," Wooyoung spat through gritted teeth. His nose felt stuffed, his eyes sore and red with anger. "I'm warning you." I fucking hate you both. So, so much. You both could fall down and die and I wouldn't give a flying fuck.

"Drop that knife right now and we'll think about lessening your punishment," Mr Jung threatened.

Wooyoung angled the knife right above his own heart, hoping for something. For what? His parents to react? His mother to care? Love and compassion from the both of them? Wooyoung didn't know. He didn't know what he wanted anymore.

His father took a purposeful step forward, only for Wooyoung to press that knife against his skin.

"Come close and I'll do it," he declared, "I'll get rid of myself just like you both wanted." He spared a glance at his mother, but she wasn't even looking his way anymore.

A disgrace; that's what you always were to her. That's what you always will be.

Wooyoung's distraction led to his father finally getting a hold of him. He struggled, god he struggled against the man's heavy grip, but it was no use. His father was more powerful than him.

And as Wooyoung was led away by his father, probably to receive his punishment by getting his phone confiscated, getting kicked out of the house again or even being forcefully put into therapy, he remembered his mother's passing words that would undoubtedly imprint themselves over his heart and scar it for all of eternity.

Doyoung should've lived instead of you.

* * *

Early the next morning as he made his way to the livingroom, San absentmindedly played around with the beautiful heart locket that loosely hung around his neck. As soon as he'd gotten home yesterday and was freed from Seonghwa's excited questions about his new hair colour and where he got all those shopping bags from, he'd immediately hopped into the bathroom and tried on the locket, unable to contain his happiness.

He'd wondered if Wooyoung had tried on his own even though their lockets were still absent of any pictures, but when he'd texted the younger about it, he never replied.

This morning as well after San woke up, he'd wished Wooyoung a good morning but the younger male didn't respond, or even read the message.

"Had a good night's sleep?" Seonghwa questioned from the kitchen. He was taking a sip of coffee from a World's best Cousin mug, one of the things San had picked for him yesterday.

"Mhm," San hummed, fiddling with the locket as he took a seat by the dining table. "It's just... I dunno. Wooyoung didn't reply to the texts I sent him earlier.

"Oh," Seonghwa settled the mug on the table, before pulling out a seat in front of San for himself. "Well, Wooyoung messaged me an hour ago."

San's head perked up. "What? Really?" Confusion outweighed every other emotion he felt, because if Wooyoung could communicate with Seonghwa, why did he ignore San?

Seonghwa nodded. "He said he doesn't think he'll be able to go to school today, and that I should proceed with the plan if he doesn't show up anytime soon."

San paused and blinked, unable to comprehend what was going on. He became even more disoriented when his cousin stretched his hands over the table to cup his own pair. "...What plan?"

"Wooyoung..." Seonghwa muttered, "he found out about something pertaining to you. About what you have. And although I didn't want to tell you before because your wellbeing is of utmost importance to me, I realized that you had to know because there is a chance of getting better."

San didn't like the look on Seonghwa's face. Despite his hopeful words, his cousin's eyes held deep reluctance. Like he didn't want to say his next words. "Hyung, what is going on? What did Wooyoung find out about?"

Seonghwa pursed his lip.

"Hwa," San pressed.

"Choi Daehwan, our grandfather, is the man who made the website about what caused your bleeding," Seonghwa began, watching as San reverted into stunned silence. "You know how hard your parents had tried to have a baby, and when they suddenly met with him in October, you were conceived a few weeks later.

"My parents told me about it when I was younger," Seonghwa continued. "Everyone in town knew about how our grandfather liked to dabble in the supernatural, and so when you were conceived, people... people started to speculate."

San's hands were trembling, but he tried to make them stop by tightly fisting them. Yes, he remembered those heartfelt memories of his mother holding him close and whispering into his hair about how much of a miracle he was, since he was her first child. He remembered them well, but now those treasured memories gradually began getting crushed into burnt, dusty remnants of themselves. In his head, his mother no longer regarded him as her little miracle, but as an attempt that turned out to work.

"San..." Seonghwa said, his tone sympathetic.

San shook his head. "I-I'm okay. Just -- how can I get it fixed? How do I get myself fixed?"

San tried not to let Seonghwa's words get to him, he really did. But the damage had already been done, and everything he tried so desperately to forget came crashing down on him all at once.

'Gwangju's little Reaper', they'd wickedly named him. All those kids in his childhood city did. The troublesome ones at his middle school would run down the hallways whenever he'd appear, shouting at the top of their lungs about how he'd hurt them if he got too close to them, just like how he'd done to his parents.

Yunho'd lived in the same neighbourhood as him when they were kids, now that San thought about it. They'd never talked though, but even if they had, the rumours circulating San would've scared him off in no time.

"San!" Seonghwa's voice forced itself into San's head before the younger's detrimental thoughts could drown him whole. "San..." He tried again, his voice thick with worry. "I shouldn't have said anything, I'm sorry. Oh God, I'm so sorry."

San's fingers found the locket around his neck again and shut his eyes. Yes, just take a deep breath and calm down. You heard Wooyoung, right? He said he won't leave again. He cares for you. He'll be there for you, and he's safe. Everyone's safe. Everything will be fine. Everything is fine.

Once San felt a bit better, he met Seonghwa's eyes from across the table. "When can we meet him?"

* * *

Choi San was tired. Tired of being scared, tired of those fucking boundaries he'd put in place for himself. He was tired of being careful, hesitating, waiting, losing. He was sick of feeling like a slave to his feelings and thoughts, because it genuinely and honestly sucked. For once, San wanted complete and utter control over what he did. He needed it.

So, instead of going to school that day, he decided to have a change of plans and head over to Wooyoung's house instead.

San felt a little bit of guilt about skipping school, but the feeling didn't last long. Once he arrived close to the driveway of Wooyoung's daunting house, he took out his phone and quickly dialed the younger's number. He truly hoped he'd pick up.

"...Hello?"

San's heart rate spiked. "Woo? Are you -- is that you?"

The line was silent, before a slow "Yeah" was whispered.

"Are you okay?" San asked, glancing at the younger's house, that same place they'd celebrated becoming boyfriends for the first time. But now, for some reason, the building looked cold and hollow.

Wooyoung quietly chuckled. "...No? Yes? Maybe?"

San rubbed his neck in thought. Wooyoung didn't sound like himself. "Are you really okay? Please Woo, tell me the truth."

With that, Wooyoung sighed. "Okay. I'm not fine, but I'm alright. I feel...neutral." He then hesitated. "Why did you call?"

San's heart felt like someone had just squeezed it. He knew the younger was just asking a harmless question, but his body decided to be all anxious about it. "Seonghwa... He told me about what you'd found out, and heck, I don't even know how to feel about the discovery."

Wooyoung sniffled, but then tried to make it seem as though he didn't, which San caught on to pretty quickly. "Are you mad at me for looking into it?"

"No. Of course not," San shook his head, inhaling a huge breath. "How can I be mad at you when I'm wearing the locket you bought for me right now?"

"You're really wearing the locket?" Wooyoung asked, his voice worryingly rough and scratchy.

San smiled. "Yeah. I'm in love with it."

"What about me, huh?" Wooyoung joked, sniffling again. "Don't you love me?"

"I..." San's cheeks heated up. "I do. I love you."

Wooyoung didn't reply, but that didn't seem to matter when a few minutes later he was walking out of the house, surprising the older boy. He was donned in a loose white top with pyjama pants, and San would've thought the ensemble cute if it wasn't for the state of Wooyoung's face.

The younger's face wasn't bruised, but his eyes were bloodshot and held a pain so candid and raw it took San aback.

"Hi, San. I had a feeling you'd be there," Wooyoung mumbled, softly nudging the older's arm. He had on his locket, too. "I probably look like shit right now, but I'm really glad you're here. Trust me."

"Woo..." San took a step closer. "What...what happened to you?"

Wooyoung wrapped his arms around him, slightly swaying them around. "Some stuff happened last night. I'm kinda grounded, but it should be all fine in a couple of days."

San's jaw clenched with the hatred he had for Wooyoung's family. Instinctively, he held the younger boy closer to him and kissed his hair. "Fuck -- they can't keep doing this to you."

"I'm used to it." Wooyoung lowly chuckled, the sound vibrating against San's chest. "I mean, I'll get through it until I can leave those fuckers once and for all. But I'm tired. So tired of everything."

"I'm so sorry," San whispered. Wooyoung just nodded, breathing him deep as if he was committing his scent to memory.

"I love you, Choi San," Wooyoung uttered into the crevice of San's neck. His words sent the older's heart pulsating with warmth, but there was also this agony that came along with it. It punctured his heart and made him want to cry. "Don't you ever forget that, alright?"

"I love you too, Jung Wooyoung," San answered. He shut his eyes as his and Wooyoung's lips met, moulding together and fitting just right -- like they were made for no one else but each other.

It only took a couple seconds for San to notice the tears rolling down Wooyoung's cheeks.

"Woo..." he whispered, holding the younger's face in his hands. His chest felt so heavy and he didn't know why. "Why are you crying, my love? D-Did I do something wrong?"

Wooyoung wiped his face and shook his head. His skin was flushed and felt hot to the touch, and his eyes kept forming new tears. "No. But I wished I'd realized everything sooner. I-I wish I'd spent more time with you, with Yunho and Mingi, with Seonghwa. I wish I hadn't been such a coward at first and accepted my feelings for you as soon as I could."

"No," San hugged him tight again. "What are you talking about, Woo? W-We have all the time in the world now. When all this is over, everything will be fine. We'll -- we'll go out on dates, hold each other's hands and kiss whenever we want. N-No one would tell us what to do with our lives..."

Wooyoung sobbed into San's chest, and it hurt San. The younger's broken wails ripped through his heart and sank him further and further into the depths of despair.

"Woo," San begged, running his fingers down Wooyoung's hair affectionately. "Please, please tell me what's wrong. Y-You're hurting me like this, you know?"

"I can't wait to see you again," was what Wooyoung chose to reply with instead, his cryptic words stabbing San's heart with confusion and continuous pain.

San gulped when Wooyoung's gaze met his, and all of a sudden they were in that same class many lunchtimes ago, staring at each other and conversing for the first time. Wooyoung's eyes had always been expressive, and now that fact was more prevalent than ever.

Wooyoung looked sad. Devastated.

"When will you come back to school?" San questioned, the lump lodged in his throat making it difficult to enunciate properly.

"Whenever I can." Wooyoung smiled, but it did nothing to reassure San. The younger's eyes held so much misery, it was frightening.

San didn't know what prompted him to utter his next words, but he still did anyway. "Call me anytime, whenever you like. I'll always pick up. You aren't alone, because you have me. You'll always have me. And you have Yunho, Mingi, Seonghwa, Nina, Jongho and Yeosang. Whoever you wanna talk to, you can. Just remember that, okay?"

Wooyoung nodded. "...Okay."

* * *

a/n: dont know what that says about me in general but this is def my fav chap in lifeline

thoughts?