1.1 | Desiderium ✓

58|fifty eight

"Is Shin your son?" YooChan said before he could stop himself, wanting to slap himself that instant. His uncle looked down at him with a put off expression, like he looked at YooChan's father.

"Go to sleep, son," he said calmly.

"No," YooChan grabbed his Uncle's hand. It was a stupid move. "Why would you say that... why would you... did you love his mother?"

There was hellfire in SeJeong's calm eyes. "And if I do?"

"He's g-gay —" YooChan blurted out, "he likes boys... still, will you still..."

"Chan," SeJeong said without an expression, "afraid that he likes someone else, or afraid that he will turn you gay?"

"No!" Chan let go of his Uncle's hand and took a step down the staircase. His shout was loud; but in that mansion of forty rooms, there weren't enough people who could hear him. "He's gay," he said, his eyes begging for an answer, "don't you see? Just like... like..."

Just like Mother.

"So what?" SeJeong asked coldly.

"Then... because of him —"

"Stop talking nonsense and go to sleep, now."

Chan fully well understood what to say and what not to say in the house where he lived. He gave his Uncle a curt bow and turned away from the staircase, towards the main doors.

"Chan?" His Uncle called, "where are you going, it's eleven in the night!"

"Some fresh air," Chan tried to grin. But he couldn't. How much did he not know? Why had it to be Shin? Couldn't he just stay the way he was when Chan had first seen him? Small, shy, lacking in connections, helpful, kind, magnet for trouble. Why did it have to be him, of all people?

Was he the reason his Uncle and Father argued every single day? Was he the reason of strife —

"MaRoo-ya," YooChan said on the phone when he had run away far enough from his mansion.

"Hm?" As usual, MaRoo picked up on the first ring.

"Can we meet?" YooChan asked, his teeth chattering a little. That late at night, by the end of November, it felt cold. And running out in nothing but a silk pajama was a stupid idea. "And bring a jacket, or something... or not. Yeah?"

"Where?"

YooChan could hear MaRoo putting on his shoes. And that made his heart calmer. At least there was someone who put Chan first. Someone who didn't leave him and run away.

"You know," YooChan bit his nail, "that garden with swings?" He was already there, that garden where he and MaRoo had used to meet after school. MaRoo used to bring Scooby along and YooChan would play with the dog, ignoring the endless calls of his driver to take him back home.

"Five minutes," MaRoo said and hung the phone up.

YooChan held the phone to his ears for the lingering electrical warmth. The wind was cold and the sand touching his feet from the sides of his slippers was coarse and chilly. There were no stars when he looked up, even when there was no Sun to hide them all away.

The garden was small, and it had swings and slides for children. People came there in the evenings, toddlers, elementary school children, their pets, their mothers. Mothers. Chan didn't even know if his was dead or alive.

Five minutes stretched into eternity, and YooChan had begun to grow tired of the creak of the iron chains and the song of crickets. When he heard Scooby's bark, he whipped his head around and sighed in relief, catching the sight of the old golden retriever and his human.