Work Text:
a black hole through
my ribs
I feed on our world
no light is left
to run
no galaxies to mold
octillions of tons
heart made of cosmic
dust
for bear the timeless oath,
I must
Tired after a long-drawn day, Mark peels his tie off – a stiff noose hung around the neck for eight hours straight – feebly unbuttons the shirt and unzips his pants. The clothes fly a few feet away somewhere – in space. Mark himself – into the sheets. So much exhaustion makes him capable to only wish for losing himself in deep slumber. Before closing his eyes, he once again smiles, lethargically, and bids the night.
– Sweet dreams, Donghyuck.
'1
They met by chance – both were lured into the rain by a rocking swing to have a smoke and contemplate the frailty of life. Per nature's wish, the downpour and heavy wind made it impossible to light a cigarette alone, and so they helped each other, using jackets as shields.
They didn't talk, only sat there, eyes casted skywards and feet pushing off the ground harder and harder, as if wanting to fly to (where – unknown: space, clouds, the other end of the world).
After getting a phone call Donghyuck left, leaving Mark alone on the ever-moving metal creature. He jumped off, saluted with a tight smile, and fled to the no-name destination. There was no urge to follow him, or watch his steps from afar. He was only a stranger, the one that Mark happened to share an hour of his life with, just to part ways and never meet again.
And that's all there was, until they bumped into each other again, at the store neighboring the very same playground. Donghyuck was picking his fruit, checking every single one for signs of rotting, mold and other imperfections; his entire being exuded displeasure. Mark was amused by it: he's never seen anyone choose groceries with such scrutiny and deliberation, so that even the boy's face expressed the burden of choice.
As he approached Donghyuck, Mark silently offered him a couple of Granny Smith apples, previously put in his own basket. The other only snorted and suggested throwing the batch into the dumpster, because eating dried up apples was unimaginable, while keeping them fresh – unachievable. He grumbled over it a bit more, and got back to his business.
Such audacity, mixed into a brash blend with courtesy, stunned Mark to the core. And so he laughed, scaring Donghyuck himself and the other customers. The situation seemed stupidly absurd to him, absurd and surreal, because whatever just happened managed to impress Mark like nothing ever before. Both the strange fruit-enthusiast Donghyuck, and his habits of picking them, as well as Mark's own reaction to the guy.
– Lunatic, – Donghyuck, scoffing, eventually filled his semi-transparent bag with fruit and moved away from the funny stranger.
'2
Donghyuck looked like a lover of Frank Sinatra, Radiohead and Kurt Cobain at the end of a bad day. Beautiful from afar, and thorny as you get closer. Sticky like a bur, and impossibly pesky. No resemblance to a red rose with thorns, ordinary and obsolete. Donghyuck was himself, and didn't hide behind the mask of unconcern – always quiet and philosophical. Donghyuck was unforgettable. And omnipresent.
Maybe that's why he clutched to Mark so tightly (both literally and figuratively). Attended the same playground frequently, always sat on the left swing, sending it so high that the chains would start rattling from exertion. Smoked slowly, savouring the flavour and the thrill, but did it in short drags. Each time Mark complained about wasting cigarettes, the ones that weren't very cheap, after all, especially Donghyuck's kind.
– Maybe I have millions under my mattress. And a box of these, is just a drop in the ocean, – was a constant reply. Solid, like a Swiss watch, but not at all believable to Mark.
– Just like you hacked into the Pentagon, and became privy to all mysteries hidden from us, mere mortals.
– Precisely.
In reality, their sharing of reflections on life didn't start off the bat, it took weeks and weeks of silence, gloomy sighs and smoke blowing before anything akin to a conversation set in. It consisted of capacious but short-lived monologues by Donghyuck, or insignificant babble of what happened to Mark from day to day. Sarcastic mockery or self-irony, that never crossed the line of deprecation.
They understood one another, without having to look for common ground – two people living in two unlike worlds. Their only meeting point was the very same playground, and as though two different planets, each revolving around its own star, they rotated around their axis (one – clockwise, the other – against it). Two orbits, lying disastrously close, united in only one intersection per cycle, just to repeat their cosmic dance again. And the distance alone didn't let them collide, made them yield to the natural force of gravity and repel one another.
They would remeet at the same place, time and time again, all the while being strangers. And gradually, little by little closed the void in between.
'3
No Kant, no Nietzsche has ever been held by Donghyuck's hands; instead, he wrote his own philosophy, no word of which was meant to see light. His entire conscience was put together piece by piece, soaking up the judgments of others, mixing fragments of reality and science. Some he adopted from textbooks, some from anonymous confessions of people online, the rest – based on his own experience: not yet long-lived, but already worthwhile. His ideas couldn't, possibly, be anything novel or mind-blowing. They were no more than pessimistic reflections, tasting of osmium and weight-pulling your mind deep and deeper down.
Mark didn't oppose the inevitable brainwashing and rebooting, it was the only way to see the world, after all. Donghyuck, in turn, privately rejoiced at the chance to rid his shoulders of the grim burden, to share a part of it with the other.
And the more Donghyuck talked, the more he drew on his cigarette, trying to escape the thoughts said out loud. Replayed their images within himself; and each time – his universe collapsed. Mark didn't realise that cosmic catastrophe back then, even if the cried out words were never about it.
For Mark, the universe appeared the way you see it from the top of a mountain. Diverse, but comprehensible, simple. Truth was alone, and it had to be chewed on, spitted out, chewed on again and left in peace until better times. One person came up with it, and everyone followed, agreeing quietly. Only Donghyuck and his kind couldn't bear the uncharted frontiers of wisdom and abandon the matters of higher existence. Truth was refuted by him, again and again. He saw shades of black in dazzling white, in goodness – found sin. And his universe was utterly barren.
– Not always being nonchalant – is kind of a flaw. You believe what you say, and there's no need to dig deep into your consciousness to discover that same truth. You don't doubt your parents, your friends, their promises and intentions. All deeds are before the eyes, nothing is behind or hidden.
– Even so, how does that concern me?
– Not sure, – said Donghyuck reluctantly, – as always, – let out a barely audible chuckle, ready to plunge into the spiderweb of entangled neuronal circuits once again. – You know how to keep your attention off of things, how not to overthink the exact same triviality ten extra times. But you see further than an outside idler that will never change. The one that lives in his two-dimensional world and hasn't heard of the apocalypse that happened on Mars.
– Seriously?
– Of course. It's art. Not accessible to all.
– If I get this right, you never believe your own words.
– If that was the case, you wouldn't ask stupid questions. Everyone experienced it at least once – wanting to not have a single care in the world, to unplug from reality. And never have to think again. Woe comes From Wit, as they say. Those who do not strain their wits, get paid a cent and find themselves in the midst of a broken world, they take time to realise what kind of sad life they're living. And it's either that discomforting reality will be blocked by the nervous system, or it will make you lose all of your former humility and semblance of bliss.
– With you I want to forget everything...
– Well, thank you for such an eye opener, – Donghyuck was amused by Mark's words.
– Because there's only one escape from your talking – head-first into the noose.
... says, and sends his shot between the eyes, aiming for the apple placed right above.
'4
Training for the down-to-earth life was tough. Mark wasn't eager to go down to the ground, Donghyuck – crawl out from under it. The progress was minimal, but it brought them closer. Both agreed that animals were cute, although the greatest question of mankind «cats or dogs?» has led them to a dead end again.
– Definitely dogs.
– It clearly goes against your ideology, – objected Mark, puzzled. – I'd say cats fit you better, inherently.
– That's absurd. My opinion is immutable, because it's like choosing a favorite between two parents, while you haven't even met your dad once. – Mark laughed, returning back to the early days of knowing each other.
«a true lunatic»
– I think it's you who's being absurd. It's not hard to meet a cat on the street, at your friend's, or, at the very least, on the internet.
– Sure, but none of them are yours.
Donghyuck was often the one to kill their conversations. With a catch phrase or rhetorical silence. Yet he never left, giving the listener all the time needed to embrace his rant. And in the moments spent with Donghyuck, Mark, indeed, felt grounded. Back home, alone with emptiness, he put on his rose-tinted glasses again: so as not to fall through even deeper, not to suffocate in soil.
Of course, Donghyuck's scepticism couldn't be washed out with Mark's expressive high tides of detailed narration of the day. He was, however, getting more and more intent to learn about the resident of a neighbouring swing; told his own privy stories, shared a couple of pictures (only a couple, but even that filled Mark with delight). Donghyuck was bitter to admit it, but they were becoming friends, as Mark happened to be the only volunteer attending his lectures on professional self-destruction. Cognition – endless and uncontrollable – ravaged his brain, destructiveness replaced sanity.
Donghyuck honestly tried to memorise Mark's daily routine, stuff the brain with his favorite hobbies, favorite concepts and dishes, with mundane chatting. But every time he ended up back at the start, looking at what he was running from. He didn't believe in goodness. And didn't want to want, either.
– How about meeting in other circumstances? Some other time.
– With no cigarettes, no stanky playgrounds and no ice-cold buttocks, you mean? – asked Donghyuck with a hint of unwillingness, although didn't look forward to hear the answer.
– We could hang out at the bar, or at a café, or just at my place, whichever you prefer.
– On a swing. Because it's a tradition, Mark, and I try not to break them, maintaining the illusion of stability in my life.
– No need to break anything, just add something new on, separate from the rest. We can continue wrecking our lungs on a swing. And alongside, will create a new tradition of seeing each other out of this place.
– Security and accuracy are important to me, – Donghyuck was on the brink of agreeing, although needed to get every single detail out of Mark, so he could be prepared for anything.
– Next time, certainly. No joking, I'm ready to print an entire city guide or even a guidebook on life for you, – when Mark had an idea, he'd grasp and inevitably squeeze every single drop of soul out of it.
– Typically, they're called psychology books.
– Donghyuck, shut up for a moment and don't ruin my peace.
'5'
By miracle, but Mark managed to drag Donghyuck out and into the club, where the latter decided to drink himself to death – dispose of stone-built past, heavy-handed present and nebulous future. It, as in the future, was somehow both visible to the unaided eye and easily slipping away from its sight. Just like The Great Nebula of Orion, that only few knew of. Far and magnificent, inviting and deadly dangerous, calling for you through the thorns of stars and asteroids, through airless void and over ten thousands lifetimes.
Donghyuck's resentment towards future was proportional to his revulsion of space. He was scared of them, despite his love to philosophize about both, not caring about laws of astronomy, physics or time. The fact that one person is just an impalpable grain of sand – less than a nucleon compared to stars, timeless black holes and the entire universe – was beyond his attention. Their relevance was confined to the native planet, the one they were working with all might to destroy. All the while the universe couldn't care less – it would much rather take lives as a punishment for neglecting their mother nature, dropping a ten-kilometer boulder onto the similar height mountains.
Tequila shots, that Donghyuck gulped down for the third time already, didn't care about cirrhosis, either. If external destruction is slow to arrive, he prefers to be killed on the inside. Shot by shot, blue-pink-orange-neon-green. Shooting stars before the eyes.
– I couldn't get away from it.
– You wouldn't, anyway. When you're scared of something, it will steadily follow you like a shadow, just so from time to time it could become your vivid daydream.
– You started talking like me, – babbled Donghyuck drunkenly, voice full of either sorrow, or mischief. – I'm a bad influence.
– I don't mind it at all, I'm afraid. Would have to grow up, sooner or later. Besides, with you it's not as scary.
– Why? – Donghyuck absentmindedly glanced at Mark, who was sitting on a bar stool to his right, and accidentally dipped a tuft of his hair into a cocktail.
– Because you grew up a long time ago. You're an unspoken mentor – wise, even if ignorant to the limits of your own mind. I will never become you, as we are different. And if one day you kick off all of the safety locks and dash towards the abyss at the speed of sound, I will quit your schooling as soon as I start loosing my own mind.
– And what if you are, already?
– Then I have to crash with you.
Against their custom, Mark had his last word that time – the very first time. He astonished and enchanted Donghyuck into silence. The boy felt responsible for contaminating his friend's mind with pernicious thoughts in the last few months. But he would never cause an epidemic, seeing not many cared enough to listen to Donghyuck's messages. Mark, however, wanted to figure him out, and pulled the blanket of his «stellar» disease over himself.
Would Donghyuck voluntarily break his link with searching for true purpose? Surely. Was he willing to completely surrender into Mark's clutches? Undoubtedly. Could he stop his own person from being a gravely ingrained philosopher? Never in his life.
Donghyuck didn't have willpower to cut the malignant tumour out, as it was the only thing he truly understood.
He continued spending money on liquor, nectar-sipping it tear by tear, making every trickle cling to his mouth. Continued taking out three cigarettes at a time, because most of them were inevitably smoked away by the breeze. Kept on ranting in whisper, tiredly, hiding words somewhere into Mark's neck. Donghyuck free-fell into his arms when stars began swirling in a disarrayed waltz. He didn't want to leave regardless: alcoholic smell, taste brought relief to his doom, mixed fatalistic scenarios with laughable mediocrity. Mark sat the boy next to himself when they found a vacant couch. Stroked his hair affectionately, and listened to any drunken madness.
Donghyuck didn't want to leave, because it meant leaving Mark behind. And going back home – home with empty walls, thrown open windows and sneaking in exhaust fumes.
Even in his sleep he knew no peace, settling for nightmares and psychedelia. He would succumb to slumber, plunging into oblivion that was just another great void, draining all the life out and exuding poisonous trail, carving an inerasable dent in his memory.
Donghyuck dissolved in Mark's warmth, and felt safe, for the first time. As if under an observatory dome, he could still see stars – his satellites – but only through a telescope, ephemeral and foreseeable.
Donghyuck was destined to collide with Mark. To interlace their orbits millimetres away from the planet's surface. To wish for becoming one, feel the other's proximity, to know that he has someone else near.
– Do you believe in afterlife?
– I trusted my parents too easily, and now I'm half-sure of anything that opposes their beliefs. They're religious people, and I used to welcome the concept of life after death. As I got older, I moved away from the idea.
– I fear to overstay somewhere, even after my death. Maybe just as a sole living cell, but it will be enough. As much as I want to believe science, I could never get that fear out of my head, – Donghyuck never before opened about the reasons for his concerns. Their root was sticking out of soil, but remained unnoticed until that very moment.
– But what about wanting to be useful? Leaving your footprint? Knowing that your life had its purpose?
– You see, the biggest tragedy of life is that it's void of any purpose. And I don't want to feel that grip around my neck. Living through the same misery hundreds of times – a waking nightmare.
4'
In all the time they've known each other, Donghyuck not once shared his memories. Mark pictured his biography by fragmentary sentences, sorrowful smiles and desolated gazes. But even after 6 months of friendship he couldn't uncover it – the moment Donghyuck became disillusioned with life. Whether he was born without a purpose, or got slapped by the harsh reality in his teenage years. Whether he had to withstand death face to face, whether his childhood was stolen. When did he grow up and give up control? Mark didn't ask, Donghyuck – never broached that topic at all. For others, the boy's past was for the past, secretly erupting with magma in his chest.
Donghyuck didn't want death to tear him up into atoms, for he was bearing vapors of zinc in his trail.
Fatigue from unjustness of his own weakness must disappear unnoticed, along with him. No right of return. There will be a thousand more of Donghyuck's kind, but they will never be him. And his life will be finally brought to a full stop, with a neat dot at the end. A tiny dot, much like Donghyuck himself. Maybe it will mark the closing of a beautiful era – the era of his purposeless existence. If not, he will continue to endlessly destroy himself, averse to watching the cataclysm known as humanity.
Mark had plans, and they haven't changed even after spending so much time with Donghyuck. Just like before, he sought happiness, didn't quit his hobbies out of boredom, visited parents and met up with childhood friends. Mark and Donghyuck were still entirely dissimilar, even if their moral values trembled from charged debates, when Mark's defensive reflexes kicked in, and Donghyuck had nothing to lose.
Perhaps they loved, but could never be together. Frequent walks under the rain and smokey clouds, and the only trick Donghyuck couldn't resist – endless conversations. They never changed, maintaining the balance of despair, aspirations and realism.
At times, tired of disagreement Mark would get angry and raise his voice, Donghyuck – snapped back. They yelled and got yelled at, but never hit the weak sides, never made it too personal. Rejected not each other, but the alien ways of thinking and life itself. Quickly burst into flames, and just as quickly fizzled out, silently rocking on their swing and trying to comprehend the rashly escaped words.
– With all of my genuine desire to solve you, put the puzzle pieces together, I would never be able to do that. I'm sorry, I have no right to judge you, – said Mark, regaining his senses. He looked up, at the speedy clouds, floating from east to west. Swallowed the outdoor scents: of wood, freshly mown grass, dust and, intimately, rain. The omnipotent smell of rainfall followed Mark constantly, wherever he went.
All because it was synonymous to Donghyuck, whose being bloomed inside every little thing.
– I worry about you.
– Needlessly, Mark. No matter when, but we will part ways. And stop caring for each other. Once a year you will look back at your old friend, or maybe decide to lock up our past behind the iron door and never see it again.
– And it's fated to happen despite my own wishes?
– Life is a continuous rejection of wishes. It goes against them, and it's incredibly reluctant to listen. It prefers to push us backwards, out of spite. Life doesn't spare a person, turns newborns senile, drenches them in filth, humiliates without much effort. Life is a bastard, worse than a bullying tyrant of high-school, because he only torments one or two. But life – it torments everyone.
– It seems reality is also able contradict its steel principles. If you leave... – never before Mark doubted the rightness of his own words, like he did then – if you leave, I can never forget you.
Donghyuck failed to give a response, heart overflowing with guilt, useless, wordless apologies and hatred. For Mark, for people, for nature and his own parents. Most of all – for himself. Regret filled his healthy cells better than alcohol, consumption of which he could, at worst, be able to control.
«When I leave, I will still remember you, too»
3'
The eighteenth floor apartment opened a broad view of the glimmering night-time city. Abandoned by the clouds, the skyline has been clear for a few days, igniting every star visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Donghyuck wasn't a frequent visitor, and was hesitant to accept Mark's invitation. As a little present, he brought a homemade pie, offering a conspiratorial smirk at Mark's question about his choice of apples.
Upon meeting, the two polar planets dragged their only inhabitants into the shared memories of the past.
More importantly, Mark realised that nothing within the Milky Way could be dearer than Donghyuck's smile.
They agreed on rewatching «A Good Year», mutually, which was indeed ironic.
Over the plates of apple pie and gratin, a bottle of Madeira and a couple of wine glasses, Mark turned on his laptop, adjusted the volume and the brightness, the sound and the resolution.
Two hours of quietude followed: interrupted by clattering glass and metal forks. At first glance, the movie seemed light-hearted, full of beautiful imagery and inspiration. But for Donghyuck, things were different, just as they were for Mark, frankly speaking. They haven't divulged a word of it, however, and said nothing about their impressions. They talked with no voice – minds bonding, orbits crossing.
– The only notion that still makes some of my hope linger – is love. But what is its pure meaning? People come, sneak up on their tiptoes, thread-weaving themselves into the spindle of your life, and then leave, slamming the door. Love envelopes you like a blanket, and wears down afterwards, turns into dust. Still, it's the only thing I don't want to search for a purpose. It's just there, up in the air. – started Donghyuck, breaking a lengthy silence.
– It has only one task – to resist what surrounds it. Love rules out unworthiness and weakness. Being together is hard, at times, but in solitude those feelings get even more intense. The realization itself, that someone (let them be even on another planet) loves you, is comforting, warm. Love isn't eternal, but cyclical. Love has the right to escape, but it will always come back.
Clearly, something was eating at Donghyuck – his body language easily gave it away. He bent his legs, head dropping onto the knees, and hugged himself. In Mark's memory, the boy has never looked so small. Instead, he stood proudly, like a stout fortress, battling the strain of self-oppression, tolerating noxious mockery people sent his way. And suddenly – broke down.
Donghyuck, having overpowered his senses, looked at Mark, watched him patiently finish his wine. And, amused by the sailing thoughts, said:
– Let's go for a smoke.
Immediately getting on his feet and wobbling from a slight intoxication, Donghyuck fished a pack of cigarettes out, and disappeared towards the balcony. When Mark caught up with him, the boy was smoking into the open window, determined not to let the smell stay inside (he hated the permanent stench). Silver rays of the moon were dancing on his face, tangled with his hair and echoed back. Sometimes Donghyuck wished to dart out into the dark night, hand himself over to the uknown, because his strength was long gone.
– You know, – he spoke slowly, as soon as Mark joined him, lit his own cigarette and turned his head to see Donghyuck. – More than anything, I want to feel warmth for myself. To feel warm at least once.
– I hope you already feel it, – Mark didn't explain the meaning of his words, and looked away with a honeyed smile.
2'
People perish, stars explode, momentarily finding their rebirth. Donghyuck never dreamed of turning into one, but neither did he wish to stay an earthly human. He desperately hoped to part from the destructive grey mass that brings chaos on all hands. Yet only a new wave of disillusions awaited him – he wasn't any different from the rest, after all.
He built sandcastles, and then stomped his creations into dust, leaving no trace. As he grew up, Donghyuck deliberately pushed people away, was deceitful and hypocritical, caused pain to those whom he condemned (and they were monsters, but what does it change?). Enjoyed to gossip and find faults, argue and flare up. No matter how humane and sublime his solutions were, he was still always put in place – on a par with others.
And yet, Donghyuck was superior to them in his ability of vast and profound thinking. This dissonance refused to exist alongside him. He was the same. Seemingly better, but the same.
He couldn't come to terms with indeterminacy, with the lack of his own place in life, feeling as if its very beginning was a hazardous mischance. A child with an error in his program code. A child, unacquainted with parental love. Lost and shallow, because any time, any essence bled right through his body.
– For the first time, I'm genuinely grateful to someone, – such admissions didn't come easily to Donghyuck, considering he rarely had anyone to address them to. – Thank you.
– For what?
– For everything, you know? If only just for fractions of a second, but I breathe the polluted air in spurts. Often find myself looking at the stray cats, fighting the pitiful urge to take one of them home. I still feel more love and attachment for dogs. Read more and more of unsophisticated literature, although still criticise every second word. Do you believe in parallel universes?
– I wouldn't say I do. But I don't deny the possibility that somewhere, far-far away from us, exists a better version of our reality.
– I don't. I hope that we met in the only existing universe. That way, our story will remain unique and meaningful. I don't want to know that we never met at the playground, or never stumbled into each other outside of the grocery store. Or that you called me crazy after all of my ranting that was definitely bordering on the verge of existential crisis. It would be liberating to keep things as they are.
– I'm glad that the playground became our place of attraction. Thanks to you, Donghyuck, I reconsidered plenty of things, and still try to fight some of them. Certain truths are hard to accept – they're daunting and saddening.
– No need to believe them all, or abide by them. You have a mind to think for yourself. Besides, I never truly trust my own thoughts, as in any moment they can turn into lies and delirium.
– At least, I learned to see the world upside-down: land above the head, sky at my feet. It's somewhat entertaining, walking on stars, feeling like a part of something greater. No obligations or concerns. You become a tiny speck, and it's far from being an imperfection.
1'
They were in love, without a doubt. And they were never meant to be, in neither this life, or the next one. Because their confessions couldn't be said out loud. Words poured through conversations, through touches, smiles and fleeting gazes. They stayed unvoiced secrets, that both Donghyuck and Mark kept in the safe prisons of their hearts.
Shared breaths of wind became their embraces, their kisses – tears of the all-pervasive rain. Without a single touch on each other's skin – they felt them. They sat on their swing, exhaling smoke and screaming into the void and uninhabited streets. They lavished their youth, wasted it on exploring galaxies, infinities and own souls.
They never stopped being them. Themselves, the way they met who knows how many months ago.
Collision of their two planets was foretold, by the universe itself. And only one was destined for a blinding supernova, an incandescent explosion – the weaker one, the willing one, the one whose planet was less than the core of Mercury. There, eclipsing constellations of a dying star, was left the other planet – the one with larger orbit and firmer spirit. The one that lost a monumental part of itself, to never get it back.
The last blemish, that managed to imprint itself through celestial blues – was a quiet laugh, fallen from Donghyuck's lips at Mark's bold claim.
You are cosmically beautiful.
0'
Mark, tormented by the long-drawn day, peels his tie off – a stiff noose that suffocated him mercilessly the entire funeral – feebly unbuttons the shirt and unzips his pants. The clothes fly a few feet away somewhere – in space. Mark himself – into the sheets. So much exhaustion makes him capable to only wish for losing himself in deep slumber. Before closing his eyes, he once again smiles, lethargically, allows the pillow to drink his starlet tears, because he knew the end of this story from its very beginning.
– Sweet dreams, Donghyuck.