Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

--

help me darling, now I’m feeling lonely 

help me darling, now I feel afraid

--

silent sobs tore across the sand, muffled and chased down and blown away by the howling wind. 

a certain choi san stood on the beach in the same suit he'd worn to the ceremony hours ago, voice raw - lips cracked - eyes a bloody red, trails of tears dried on his cheeks.

and he wasn't thinking - because he couldn't think anymore - because he couldn't do anything at all anymore - beside stepping towards the billowing currents.

there wasn't anything left for him here, anyway. 

- 

fifteen years ago,  the heartbreak of a child was shut into a little glass bottle on a beach in korea - sealed with a cork and a few helpless tears. 

"stop crying, jung wooyoung. don’t make us late for the flight." 

"bye, korea..." the six-year-old whispered to the quiet sea, one little hand clasping tightly at the cool glass before tossing it out into the waves and watching it float away.

- 

san didn't have anything to hold to as he took another step towards the ocean. 

his eyes were fluttering closed at the sting of the wind, freezing waves already lapping coldly at the polished heels of his shoes. 

and no matter how desperately he waited for a sign from the universe, waited for anything to happen at all - the waves kept spitting their foaming laughs at him, the winds kept snickering in their frost-laced stiffness, the light from the lamppost behind him kept scattering its sterile sarcasm on his flickering shadow. 

everything was laughing at san, and the sound was neither warm nor soft nor inviting nor friendly. 

it was cold, mocking, ridiculing, carving cuts in his skin. 

san was pathetic. 

one hand running aimlessly through the waters, he sank to his knees in the shallow waves, not bothering to flinch at the way his dress pants soaked through up to his knees. 

drawing his hand back up towards himself again and again, staring meaninglessly at a handful of sand, then a few stalks of browned sea vegetation, then a pile of brittle shells - numbly watching as everything slipped through the gaps between his fingers. 

and he ran his hand through the foaming waters for the last time, already looking into the distance as he quietly let everything fall back from his grasp into the pitch-dark waves. 

san became vaguely aware that something had stayed in his palm even after everything else had slipped away. he looked down, about to overturn his palm and drop it because he’d made up his mind by now-

but when he looked down for that moment - it twinkled in his hands, softly but surely, clear and clean, under the weak light casted by the lamppost a distance behind him, a distance on the beach and away from the sea.

he stared blankly at it for a few moments, a respite amidst the storm, a calm amidst the hysteria.

"message in a bottle…" he whispered to the quiet sea, clasping one hand around the cool glass and bringing it closer.

maybe it was on impulse - maybe it was the fragment of him that didn't want such a futile end to twenty two years whispering its final prayer - but his hands moved of their own accord, a tinkle punctuating the air as shaky fingers uncorked the bottle, one hand tilting it to drop the message in the other.

kneeling in the waves, san slid the cork and bottle in his breast pocket, slowly unfolding the note.

a child's handwriting greeted him softly in informal Korean.

hello, how are you? 

I'm youngie. I'm seven years old this year.

I'm very sad. I have to leave Korea with aunt and uncle, to go to a place called France or Paris, to do modelling and acting. they said it's a good place, but my best friends can't come with me.

I don't want to leave, but I can't do anything about it. aunt and uncle already booked the flight and we have to leave today. 

this is the number aunt and uncle gave me. if you're sad too, you can call it. I hope we can talk and become happier together.

from youngie, year 2XXX

san read the note aloud three times, hoarse voice ruffling the stillness of the sea air.

san paused.

the moon was bright above him. 

in that moment, he felt somewhat inclined to watch it shine, even just for one more minute.

so - after a moment of hesitation, he reached in his shirt pocket for his phone.

slowly, mechanically, he dialed the number penned in fading ink on the faded paper - and pressed the green call button.

the tone sounded once. san waited.

once again - nothing. san waited for another heartbeat - he could do that much.

when the third ring was answered with the same silence as before, he smiled weakly, sliding his phone back in his shirt pocket. 

the water stirred as san took one step further in. he hadn’t expected anything anyway.

a number from fifteen years ago, on a note penned by a child, wouldn’t be-

suddenly, he startled as a voice came from within the phone, vibrating right next to where his heart was. he’d forgotten he had one. 

“allô?”

a pause.

over the phone, the air seemed to still for a fleeting moment.

then, this time in korean, and a bit softer- 

“hello...?”

the waves seemed to stop for a second in time.

san paused.

"...youngie?" 

there was a sudden intake of air on the other side of the line. "yes... that's me. who am I speaking to?" 

"...san." 

"san..." the stranger repeated softly, testing the name on his lips. "I don't think I... remember anyone I knew by that name. do I... know you?" 

san shook his head, one hand playing with the waves. "I found a message... in a bottle." 

"a message in a bottle?" another gasp. "I remember sending one out, years ago! are you in Korea? how long ago was that?" 

san nodded. "fifteen years ago... you said you were seven." 

"wow, that really was me then. like you said, I'm youngie... nice to meet you, san." 

"... you too." san breathed for the formality, although he knew how little it would matter in a few hours - still kneeling in the shallows, playing with the waves for the beat of silence that followed. 

"it's such a coincidence that the bottle ended up back in Korea..." youngie thought aloud. "I'd imagined it ending up far away, in Greenland or Antartica or something." 

san listened to the voice drifting out from his shirt pocket, watching the clouds drifting by the moon. 

youngie's words floated lightly, effervescent on the waves. "so... did you just find the message?" 

san hummed. 

"so you're at the beach... at the sea... now?" youngie asked, innocent, clear and clean. 

san hesitated for a second, then hummed again - because he just felt inclined to. 

"no wonder I thought I heard the sound of waves in the background... wait- what time is it for you?"  

san paused, but youngie was already letting out a noise of alarm. 

"if it's seven at night here... isn't it two or three in the morning for you?" 

there was a silent pause, a hesitating stillness. 

and san thought youngie would start prying, tell him how wrong and foolish and ridiculous it was to be doing what he was doing, tell him how he should be stronger. 

so san waited for his last goodbye. 

but all youngie asked, all youngie whispered, was soft and genuine, honey-tinged and lightly vibrating in san's shirt pocket. 

"oh, san... aren't you cold?" 

and for no reason, or maybe for every reason possible, or maybe because of the sudden wave of warmth rushing through him and thawing the freezing waves and biting winds - san found his vision flooding with tears.

Chapter Text

--

help me darling, now I’m feeling older 

and I know, the time, it doesn’t wait

--

“no…" san had always lied when it came to questions like this one, but all of a sudden it felt almost impossible to grit out the lie.

"are you sure? I can hear your teeth chattering from this far away, san." youngie giggled, and his lightheartedness asked san if youngie really knew what was going on. san was relieved if youngie didn't know.

youngie was asking something else now. "you should go somewhere and get something warm to eat. do you know the area well?"

san paused for a moment before shaking his head.

"that's okay then, I'll just search it up for you. where are you at?"

san paused again - and youngie was ready to take back that offer - but san stopped and told him, quiet and low.

youngie's voice drifted over the phone. "I'm searching it up now! the name sounds a little familiar… maybe I knew it from my childhood?"

a comfortable second ticked by, and the cold felt a little more uncomfortable, and the sea felt a little less inviting.

"if you took a car here, there's a 24-hour soup place a little while behind the beach! you should go there and have some soup, or you might fall sick…" youngie's voice trailed off unsurely.

but san didn't - wouldn't - leave him hanging. "... yes… thank you."

when was the last time he'd thanked someone other than when it was a fake smile, a formality, a business tactic?

it was uneasy and slightly unnatural, but for some reason, he felt like he'd say it again.

again?

again…?

yes.

he would say it again.

the waves rippled graciously around his legs as he stirred.

at least, for today -

"come on! let's go, san!" youngie cheered gently a few thousand miles away, but the closest anyone had ever been to him.

for today, he would stay.

"okay."

it was somehow relieving to feel the discomfort at the wetness in his shoes as he stepped out from the shallows, one hand picking up his abandoned coat jacket, the other carefully curled around a softly vibrating phone.

every few steps, he'd pause and listen and maybe hum in reply, and youngie continued stringing together those light rhythms on the other end of the line.

so he walked, step by step, with a little more ease than he thought he would, and when he'd gotten to the parking lot, his car was where he'd left it, jet-black brand blending into the hazy night.

with a touch on the handle, it revved quietly to life. 

san hesitated in the driver's seat. he’d listened to and remembered every word youngie had said - but he decided, after a long breath and a few damp shivers, to ask him again. he just had to - somehow, less for the formality and more for the way he felt like youngie would appreciate it.

youngie did. san could hear the smile in his voice, hand on the wheel carelessly guiding the vehicle over the midnight asphalt.

“I saw that beach was in Gangnam! do you live around that area?”

san stopped driving completely.

he owns a mansion in Gangnam-gu…

no wonder we’ve seen him on the news.

try to get closer to him.

my cousin worked on something for him a while back.

he’s the one you should go for here.

you’re lucky you get to talk with someone like him.

why did everyone only care about that much?

when was the last time he’d made an actual friend?

deep down, he didn’t have high hopes for youngie. youngie was just someone whose message he’d happened to find. a message from fifteen years ago.

“- if you did, it would be such a coincidence! I have an old place around there, though I’ve never actually lived in it.”

“...really?”

“yeah! I just go there for parties when I occasionally visit Korea… you might’ve seen us around before!”

“parties?”

“they’re not as fun as you might think, though… everyone’s all dressed up and pulling all kinds of business tactics on you.”

san let out a resigned sigh, bordering on a laugh.

“you’ve been there too?” youngie gasped. “I would hate to be caught complaining about it… you know, privileges and all, but-”

“I know.” 

youngie sighed, relieved, and threw together those cotton-candy consonants on the other end of the line.

san nodded and unlocked the car door, stepping out into a warmly lit store. the sign on the door read: no physical services until 0800 - self-service available only.

he stopped in front of the machine, registering the instructions in front of him before slowly pressing the icons on the pixelated screen.

"hmm… are you there yet, san?" 

"-yes."

"oh, what's it like? you should say hi to the storeowner!"

"...it's self service for now."

"ah… okay."

san was comfortable with the beat of silence that followed.

"san… I just wanted to ask…”

was this finally the question?

maybe it would be what his last name was - because how rich was he? - or what he was doing earlier and maybe why he had been doing it - because that would be sensational for the press, wouldn’t it -?

san just waited. it wouldn’t matter a lot if he decided to go back tomorrow night.

“... am I… making you uncomfortable?”

there had been so many on the other side of the table under the chandelier, painted lips and painted nails, asking him that same question on the tips of their tongues so they could ask him how they could make him more comfortable, all pawns on a careful stage pulling as many sugar-coated strings as they could to climb up the ranks of society to wherever they thought he was.

all of them must've quietly stepped away from the spots they were once vying for so eagerly - after whatever the press must've had to say about today's failure because after all, major or minor, his name was just another investment in their markets.

but no matter how hard they'd tried, none of them had ever sounded as unsure as youngie.

one the other end of the line, miles away and continents apart, youngie's voice was almost breaking in his sincerity.

"am I… making you uncomfortable?"

this time, san didn't hesitate. "no. you aren't."

he settled back down in the car, plastic takeout bowl in hand, and youngie's sigh of relief was as comforting as the warmth floating softly in the summer air.