Red Strings

Red Strings 4/?

"I have to if I want to keep you guys in a home... even if it's one like this." He waved his hands around at the apartment which had paint peeling from the walls. "Mom, stop letting that bastard get that shit. The prices went up and so did rent."

"I can't." She responded seldomly, "It makes him happy, something I can't do for him anymore. Who am I to stop him?"

"His wife? The mother of his child?" Wonsik snapped back before closing his eyes to calm himself, "Mom, as much as I love you, I don't get you."

"You don't get it because you don't know him like I do. He is a wonderful man."

"Was."

"Is, Wonsik-ah."

"Maybe when he's sober, yeah."

"Wonsik." Her voice cut deep, making him die a little inside. His mother couldn't hate him, not her.

"I'm sorry, Mom." He murmured, bringing up his fingertips up to gingerly caress her jaw, "I'm sure he's a great man, I'm just too blind to see it." Lies.

"It's okay." She finally heaved a sigh, smiling a sad smile, "Why don't you stay so I can patch you up? Take a shower maybe?"

"No, I'm good. I'll see you next time, Mom." He returned her smile with his signature grin that she loved, his hand clasping at the back of her neck softly to drawing her in for a kiss on the forehead. He turned on his heel, opening up the door hastily. He had to get out.

"Wonsik-ah!" Her voice rung out from behind him desperately. He turned around with a raised brow in question. "I... I..." His grip tightened on the door handle. Not this shit again.

"How much?"

"Not that much. I swear." She replied immediately. "I... He was gambling with a few people and lost horrendously. Nine-hundred. I wish I didn't have to ask you but..."

Wonsik swore under his breath, a hand coming up to ruffle up his hair in frustration. He quickly did calculations in his head, swallowing his spit down thickly. He earned roughly three-hundred each fight, meaning he earned six-hundred each time he fought as he usually did two rounds, spending roughly one hundred on groceries and sparing four-hundred for rent and one-hundred for himself.

He felt his head and body hurt at the thought of how many fights he would have to go through to earn just barely enough money without killing himself, probably having to take money out of his savings. Unless he were to take all the money out of his savings and use that to pay the debt but fuck, he needed that money for himself.

How else would he scrap by life?

Pulling at his hair tiredly, he looked up at his nervous wreck of a mother. "I'll figure something out."

With that he left, slamming the door roughly to release some of his anger on the way out. He felt like crying, giving up on life but he couldn't. He was the money maker for his druggie, alcoholic, gambler of a father and for his beautiful, kind but delusion women of a mother.

Somehow in his daze of walking around with no destination in mind, he found himself in front of a familiar house, one that he hadn't seen since the last time he escorted that innocent and naive man home.

He was at Taekwoon's house.

Taekwoon hadn't realized that this would become a routine of theirs the first night Wonsik had shown up at his window, successfully scaring the shit out of him, but there was also no stopping it because when he noticed, it was already too late.

It had been another agonizing week since he woke up to a cold bed with no signs of Wonsik except for the lingering smell the other emitted and the clothes he let him borrow in the dirty hamper.