The first thing Gregory notices is the pain.
It's there before he even opens his eyes---in his head, in his back, in his ass. It curls over every inch of his body and makes him grit his teeth. He wraps his fingers around the abnormally crumpled sheets beneath him, trying to open his eyes through the agony.
Fuck, I didn't think it'd hurt that bad. Porn never told me this was going to happen.
He mentally smacks himself in the head for actually trusting porn. Of course they wouldn't have shown you the real deal, you fucking knucklehead. Gregory winces as he finally manages to prise his sticky eyelids open, hand instinctively moving to his lower back. Damn it, that hurts like a motherfucker.
So why do I feel so good?
When Gregory eventually rolls over, he immediately realises why. Kang Jeong-Soon's warm body is undoubtedly real---unlike the strangely vivid hallucination he'd almost managed to convince himself their tryst had been. Dappled in the sunlight streaming in from Gregory's suddenly useless curtains, Jeong-Soon's half-naked, puffy from sleep, and snoring loud enough to wake the fucking dead.
Gregory finds it hopelessly endearing.
He attempts to pull himself into a sitting position, struggling valiantly against the burning agony. When the pain lacing his body wins the fight, he settles for turning enough to see Jeong-Soon's face.
Half-wrapped in creased sheets, his boyfriend's lanky body hangs off the bed, bare toes touching the floor, pretty much no muscle definition in whatever the blanket exposes of his unclothed chest. There's a tiny streak of drool on his chin, his hair sticks up all over his head, and his face is swollen from slumber.
Despite that, he's still weirdly attractive. The more Gregory looks at him, the more he realises just how stupidly fucking pretty his boyfriend is. And he's pretty sure it's just him, because Jeong-Soon is the kind of attractive that could slip through a crowd without being noticed, the kind of attractive that wouldn't make sense on paper, the kind of attractive he'd never see on TV.
Gregory's suddenly thankful for the ineffectiveness of his curtains, because the sunbeams streaming onto the pillow highlight every single one of Jeong-Soon's features perfectly, from his thin nose to his oddly dark lashes and pale skin. His lips, bright pink and pouty---probably from all the kissing they'd done the day before---are pursed up tightly, and Gregory resists the urge to kiss him again.
Remember the morning breath, Gregory. Also remember that you're in colossal pain right now, and his stupid dick caused it.
He resists the urge to shut his eyes and go back to sleep---judging by the sun, it's probably after eight at least. Good thing it's Saturday. Gregory continues rubbing his lower back gingerly, grimacing every time his bony fingers dig into his spine.
A thought comes to him, so startling it's almost a reflex to push it away. Did he enjoy it too?
And really, Gregory's not sure. The whole thing itself had been a haze, and he'd been too caught up in the myriad of pleasure and pain to note down the expression on his boyfriend's face. He'd felt too embarrassed to look in Jeong-Soon's eyes, and his head had been lolling back too much, anyway.
He enjoyed it. You heard the noises he made. He definitely enjoyed it.
But the thought still nags at the back of Gregory's mind, stubborn and unyielding. He stares down at himself, his t-shirt practically slipping off his slim shoulders, his sweatpants loose around his waist. What if I wasn't good enough for him? He thinks back to The Girlfriend, who'd been all sugar and curves, dimpled and chubby-cheeked, soft in all the right places. What if he thinks I'm too skinny? His hand grazes over his chest, thumbs the bruises scattered beneath the thin fabric. What if I made his first time horrible?
Stop it. He liked it. Don't think about it.
Thinking's not really Gregory's style, anyway. And yet, the worry lingers, festering in his head like a burn no amount of cold water could ease. It hurts, and he knows that even if he asks, Jeong-Soon would tell him it was amazing---because he's that kind of person. Because he's the kind of person to spare Gregory's feelings, no matter what the truth. Except Kang Jeong-Soon is an open book, and the thought soothes Gregory, the knowledge that he would be able to tell if his boyfriend decides to lie wrapping around him in an invisible blanket of comfort.
Bracing himself, Gregory slowly slides himself off the bed, fuck a recurring motif in his head. Shower. Right. Maybe that'll help. He doubts it will---the night before, he'd scrubbed various bodily fluids from himself until his skin had turned pink, but none of that had eased the throbbing flaring over his lower back. He presses a hand against his ass. Winces. Vows to never do it again. Knows he'll definitely do it again, if only for the sweet ecstasy that had tugged at his fingertips and buzzed through every inch of his body.
He manages to shuffle to Jeong-Soon's side of the bed, one hand flat against the wall to steady himself. Gregory casts one final stare upon his boyfriend's peaceful, sleeping face. Jeong-Soon looks young, so young, so much younger than his eighteen years. His skin is pale, cheeks flushed. In the sunlight, his hair is almost blonde, and if Gregory squints hard enough, he can see the dark roots lining Jeong-Soon's scalp---can almost feel the butterflies rising in his stomach with their melancholy, soulful promises of hope. The faded illusion, a mirage from years back, weaves a cadence in his heart---as if vowing that everything will be alright.
And while it's a song he's heard a million times before, this time, it feels real.
Gregory can't help himself. Ignoring the agony that rushes through his back every time he moves, he leans down, brushes Jeong-Soon's messy bangs away, and places a chaste kiss on his forehead. His heart races in his chest---as if afraid Jeong-Soon would wake up and see Gregory being so tender, so open, so vulnerable, his stone walls smashed to grit and rubble.
"I love you," he says to no one but the air---and the quiet, imperceptible butterflies, painting his ribcage with their multicoloured wings.
٩( ᐛ )و
It's nine thirty by the time Gregory manages to drag himself out of the shower and limp downstairs, trying to keep the cursing to a minimum so as not to wake his still-dozing boyfriend. The stairs are a pain in the ass---literally. Every step makes him grimace.
"Good morning, sleepyhead!" he hears the moment he steps into the kitchen. The far-too-cheery lilt of Balloon Tits' voice makes him scowl and momentarily distracts him from the agony he's in. There's a mixing bowl in her hands, and she wears her usual frilly pink apron over a surprisingly modest tank top and jeans. "What took you so long to get up today?" She laughs, a bright, tinkling sound that makes Gregory want to rip her throat out. "Usually, you're up earlier."
"None of your fucking business. Where's Dad?" Gregory mutters.
"Arthur's still asleep." Balloon Tits sets her bowl down on the counter. "We're having pancakes today."
"I don't care. I'm not hungry," Gregory growls, brushing away the persistent wail of his empty stomach---he hasn't eaten anything in what, two days? Three? He's lost count.
Balloon Tits' bright grin wavers slightly. "I bought some beautiful fresh strawberries that will go great with them. And whipped cream! Lots of whipped cream! Your favourite!"
"Who the fuck told you that?" Gregory snarls, whipping around. His chest feels tight---too tight, and he can hardly breathe.
He remembers a woman, petite and skinny and pale, stomach swollen from illness beneath her daisy-patterned dress. He remembers those daisies, especially. They're too vivid for him to forget, fluttering gaily on her clothes as if the world was good and warm and flowery. She'd been standing at the entrance of his bedroom door, and she'd been smiling at him. Gregory remembers thinking how her smile had once been bright, brighter than the sun, but it had waned to a fraction of its former self---something demure, soft, tired. And yet, there'd still been all the tenderness of a mother's love in that smile, as if she'd been trying to smile just for him.
She'd stood there, and she'd held a plate piled high in her shaking hands. "I made you breakfast!" she'd chirped. "Pancakes with extra whipped cream and fresh strawberries! Your favourite!"
And then she'd keeled forward, her bloated, tumour-ridden belly meeting the ground as the plate had smashed into a million pieces, dusting Gregory's bedroom floor with juice and cake and cream.
Gregory realises he's gripping the kitchen counter so hard that it's started to cut into his trembling palms, but he can't bring himself to care. "You can't---who the fuck told you that?" he screams, his heart beating fast, too fast, presto in its mortal ivory confines, so fast he feels like he might die.
"I'm sorry! Your father said you liked that---I thought it would be nice to give you a surprise---" Balloon Tits stammers, regret filling her startling blue eyes.
Gregory slams his fist down on the counter, his entire body shuddering, a choir of pain. "I fucking hate that," he mumbles. Lies, lies, lies.
"You have to eat something," Balloon Tits coaxes. "If you don't like pancakes, I could make you something else---"
"Don't tell me what to do!" Gregory shrieks, heat filling his face. "Just---" He wants to tear his hair out. He wants to dig his hands into the sharp counter edges until his blood runs down to the kitchen floor in a scarlet waterfall. "Just fucking accept that you'll never be Mom! Shut up! Shut up!" He grips the sides of his head, feeling the burn of the ebony locks trapped between his clawing fingers as he tugs at his scalp. He needs to leave. He needs to leave, right now.
Staggering to his feet, he tries to limp away, only to be interrupted by Balloon Tits' horrified gasp. "Gregory! Why are you limping? Are you hurt?" He hears her rummaging, searching around with her obnoxiously pink nails. "Are your bruises acting up again---"
"I told you to shut the fuck up!" Gregory shouts, fingers finding the edge of the kitchen counter once more. He can't tell her---he won't. "It's none of your business!"
"Gregory, Marilyn, what's going on?" a deep voice booms as Gregory's father stumbles into the kitchen. "I heard shouting." He's still in his pyjamas, deep frown lines scattered across his face. In that moment, Gregory hates him---hates his father, hates his father's whore, hates everyone in the world. Everyone except the boy probably still snoring in his bed upstairs.
"Arthur, he's hurt," Balloon Tits pleads. "I'm worried it might be something acting up from the other day---"
"I'm not!" Gregory gnashes his teeth. Annoying slut. Why don't you just shut the fuck up? "Mind your own business!"
"Gregory, we're just concerned about you---" his father tries, and he seems so old right now, too many wrinkles furrowing his face.
"You can take your concern and shove it up your fucking asses!" Gregory bursts, and he feels his palms split open, bright red blood gushing over the countertop in thin trickles. He sees Balloon Tits move, as if to help him, and his bloody right hand instinctively lashes out. It catches her across her ample bust and sends her smacking back into the countertop, the mixing bowl nearly falling off, the crimson liquid that rolls off his fingertips splattering her apron.
"Gregory?"
The moment the word comes from behind him, Gregory shuts his eyes. No. Not him. Not Jeong-Soon. No no no---this is just a dream, a very bad dream, a fucking nightmare, this isn't real---He whirls around, fully prepared to wake up.
"Marilyn?" echoes the same incredulous voice, and Gregory realises everything is real---a nightmare brought straight to life.
From where she's slumped against the countertop, Balloon Tits lifts her head wearily. Shock fills her eyes. "Jeong-Soon?"
Gregory freezes. Time stops, and his head spins. Everything seems to move in slow motion---Balloon Tits' desperate, breathless Arthur, no, the evident horror painted across Jeong-Soon's face...and his father's tanned palm, coming down, down, down.
The slap stuns Gregory more than it hurts him, cracking flush across his left cheek and snapping his head to the side. A dull ache spirals across his face, but it's the surprise that sends him to his knees, blood still spilling from his split hands. It's the surprise that curls around his tongue, rendering him speechless and sending his teeth into the inside of his cheek. His vision is blurry, but not from the force. His mouth is open, but not from the agony.
And then Gregory realises: tears haze his eyesight, and his lips part not in sobs, but in laughs---harsh, choking laughs, more like misery than mirth. "Well done, Dad," he manages, watching the blood from his palms pool over the kitchen floor. "You finally grew enough balls to discipline me properly."
Through his fuzzy vision, Gregory sees his father drop down to his knees too, crouching next to him. "Gregory---I didn't mean to---I'm sorry---"
Before he can snap back a response, there's a pair of arms around him, long and warm and comforting. He can feel Jeong-Soon heave, wrapping his lean body around Gregory's own. "Don't hit him," Jeong-Soon gasps. "Please."
"I didn't mean to---" Gregory's father splutters, regret splashed all over his face, and Gregory resists the urge to laugh again. He wants to fight, wants his father to beat him until his head's cracked open, all so he has an excuse to hit him back.
"Well then, hit me again, and mean it," Gregory hisses, not missing the way Jeong-Soon's grip tightens around him, the only barrier saving him from himself. He's vaguely aware of Balloon Tits picking herself off the ground and moving to his side. He buries his face into his boyfriend's shirt, if only to avoid looking at her whore face.
"Gregory, Jeong-Soon, please---" Balloon Tits pleads.
"Shut up!" Gregory barks, a muffled, strangled sound that squeezes its way out of his throat. He can feel Jeong-Soon grabbing his bloody hands, pressing them against the hem of his t-shirt---trying to stop the bleeding, he supposes. And then he's being lifted, hoisted into his boyfriend's arms like he weighs less than a feather, Jeong-Soon's hold so gentle he almost forgets about the pain sparking through his whole body.
"I'm so sorry, Mr Gan. And Marilyn." He hears Jeong-Soon gulp after the apology, feels the rise and fall of his chest. It's so normal, so caring, and Gregory wants to stay like this forever---wrapped in Kang Jeong-Soon's arms, the hell of the outside world tucked far away in the darkest depths of his mind. "I'm going to borrow your son for a moment."
٩( ᐛ )و
They end up back in his room, the edges of Jeong-Soon's t-shirt wrapped around Gregory's bloody hands. Gregory slips his head into his boyfriend's lap and feels Jeong-Soon shake, trembling like he's the one who'd been hit. He lets Jeong-Soon fuss over his palms until the bleeding stops, and no one says a word for a long while.
"You need help," Jeong-Soon says.
Okay. That wasn't what I was expecting. "I don't." Gregory feels a scowl creep across his face.
"I beg to disagree."
"Then beg." Gregory pushes his head further into his boyfriend's lap---he's not sure why. Maybe it's because of the inecessant need to be touched, rising inside up in his chest and fluttering against his ribcage. He wants Jeong-Soon to touch him, to hold him, to love him as he is---crazy and all.
"You have issues."
"You don't fuck a guy one night and tell him he's got issues the next morning."
"You call a woman all sorts of derogatory names for...what did she even do to you?" Jeong-Soon scrunches up his nose, looking utterly perplexed. "And it's Marilyn. Gosh dang it, it's Marilyn. I can't believe I didn't realise it earlier---the way you shouted at her---Marilyn wouldn't hurt a fly."
Gregory rolls his eyes. "Forgive me if I can't see it your way, considering she's my dad's whore."
"There you go again. Stop it." Jeong-Soon cards his hand through his own hair. "You keep hurting yourself too. You aren't eating, you keep injuring yourself, you won't stop getting beaten up in completely avoidable situations...I can't---I can't watch you kill yourself like this, Gregory. I can't watch you hurt yourself and everyone around you."
"I would never hurt you." The moment the words leave his lips, Gregory knows they're true. He wouldn't hurt Jeong-Soon. He'd murder everyone else and watch the whole world burn, but he'd hold Jeong-Soon tight. He'd shelter him from the festering flames. Just the two of them, trapped in their own little bubble as the universe crumbles to ashes.
"But what if you do?" Jeong-Soon still doesn't touch him, and Gregory wants to scream---wants to yell at his boyfriend to stop staring at the blood lacing the hem of his t-shirt, wants to ask him to stroke his fingers through Gregory's tangled hair, wants Jeong-Soon to kiss him and pretend everything's okay. "This isn't a movie, Gregory." Jeong-Soon's brown eyes are full of sorrow. "This isn't a movie where you can hurt everyone except the person you love and call it a day."
"I'm fucked up, okay?" Gregory snaps, rolling away. The craving to be touched fades away, even if only for a moment. "I'm fucked up, I'm crazy, I'm a bad person and that's just the way I am. Okay?"
"Come on, Gregory," Jeong-Soon presses. Gregory can't bring himself to look at him, instead focusing his attention on his boyfriend's blood-splattered shirt. "We really shouldn't..." Jeong-Soon shakes his head, running his hand through his hair again. "We shouldn't have had sex yesterday. We needed to talk. I'm sorry. We were supposed to talk and...you need help, Gregory. Really. I can't bear to see you like this."
"I don't need help."
"This isn't the first time!" Jeong-Soon bursts. "This won't be the last, either!" He stops, freezing, his chest heaving up and down. For a moment, Gregory allows himself to pretend that the morning never happened, that everything is still normal, that they're just two boys in love huddled between rumpled sheets, nothing but their own yearning hearts blocking out the envy of sunlight. And if Gregory pretends hard enough, he can finally touch the little patches of sun, can finally run them over his hands and rub them between his fingers, can embrace them without them slipping just out of his reach.
"How about we go to therapy?" Jeong-Soon suggests, and that illusion instantly shatters. The sunlight fades, fleeing from Gregory's desperate grasp---like how it always has. So close, and yet so far. "You and me. Both of us. I'll take you there. If you want to go alone, that's fine too. We can try the school counsellor or---"
"No!" Gregory stands up so fast he's almost worried the bed might fall over. "I'm not going." The all-too-familiar scowl cracks his face, spreading over his features and infecting them with hate. "I don't need fucking therapy."
"Yes, you do."
"What I need is for you to shut the fuck up."
"Okay." Jeong-Soon leans forward, and for a moment, Gregory wonders if he's actually going to drop it. That is, until he opens his mouth. "You go to therapy, and then I'll shut the fuck up. Deal?"
Gregory lets his tongue rest for a minute, staring up at his boyfriend's pretty face. He takes in the flushed cheeks, the pallid skin, the crinkly brown hair. He thinks about how he wants to spend the rest of his life with this boy, with Kang Jeong-Soon and his stupid brain and infectious smile.
For a minute, Gregory lets himself live.
Then, he crumbles, his ashes pooling on the floor in grainy chunks of death and despair and hopelessness. "Get out," Gregory says, and he's surprised at how calm he sounds, how it's like a different person entirely speaking. It's not him. And then the fire's back, infesting his words with ruin---sweet, inevitable ruin, the crash and burn, the wind and the rain and the flood. "Get out!"
"Gregory, don't---"
"Get out before I kill you," Gregory hisses.
Jeong-Soon's already large brown eyes widen even more. "Please, Gregory, I need you to listen to me---"
"Fuck you!" Gregory wails. "You always ruin everything! Go to fucking hell, Jeong-Soon!" The anger blisters through his body, feeding on every raw nerve with renewed vengeance. "Get out of my fucking life!"
"I can't leave you---not right now---Gregory, come on---"
Gregory's not sure how his feet end up on the floor. He's not sure how his hands end up in his desk drawer. And he's definitely not sure how his fingers end up curled around a spare box-cutter, holding it so tightly the sharp edge digs into his palm. "Say that again," he snaps, pointing the blade at his boyfriend. "I fucking dare you."
He knows he's done it---alarm spreads across Jeong-Soon's face, and he instantly scrambles off the bed and presses himself to the door. "Gregory, don't do this. Come on, Gregory." He holds out a hand, and from where he's standing, Gregory can see it tremble. "Give me the knife, Gregory. Don't---don't do something we're all going to regret. Please?"
"Get out or I'm going to kill you," Gregory snarls, and he can feel his own hot tears running down his heated cheeks. "Go away, okay? Go away!" It hurts. It hurts it hurts it hurts---
"Gregory---" Jeong-Soon's crying too, liquid crystal flowing down his reddened face. He looks so helpless that Gregory almost wants to give in---wants to drop the box-cutter and run into Jeong-Soon's arms.
But he doesn't. He can't. "Get the fuck out, Jeong-Soon." Gregory's hand shakes, shakes so hard he's almost sure he'll cut himself. "I don't want to hurt you."
"Gregory, no---"
"Get out!" Gregory sobs. "Fucking leave!"
Jeong-Soon's hand closes around the doorknob, but he still doesn't leave. "If you need me, you have my number. I'm not going to give up on you, okay?"
"Fine. We're over. Now you have no more reason to try. Get the fuck out." And it pains Gregory to say it, knifes him right in the chest. The way Jeong-Soon's expression shatters breaks his heart even more, but he pushes the feelings away and tightens his grip on the box-cutter.
Jeong-Soon yanks open the door, the melancholy in his eyes so lucid it makes the tears flow down Gregory's face faster. "I love you, okay?" he confesses. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." And then he's gone, as if he'd never been there in the first place.
Gregory slumps down to the floor, box-cutter slipping out of his suddenly-weak grasp. The tears come again, almost too easily, crashing into him in floods.
I'm sorry too.
I love you.
Outside, the sky crackles, and the rain comes pouring down.
don't u just hate it when u suggest therapy so ur bae tries to kill u
looong author's note today because We Have Some Things To Talk About (sorry!)
welcome to another episode in the saga that is Bad Things Happen Immediately After The Main Couple Sleeps Together, because i love setting the world on fire after shreksy time 🥰
also irrelevant but i said 'anygays' in front of my Very Christian Friend (yeah, i'm Christian too, but this friend has a Jesus-themed pencilcase, Whatsapp status, and profile pic, so, uh) and she noticed and was like "lol anygays?" and i panicked and was like i aM vErY hEtEroSexUal nO hOmo iNgLeS (since we've only been friends since this year, idk whether she's homophobic or not but it's always better to be safe than sorry when i'm with my fellow Christians lol). you think i'd have learned my lesson from the time i was like I'M GAY and she was like "lol you're gay?" and i panicked and was like NO NO NO VERY STRAIGHT OF COURSE I WAS JUST JOKING but here we are again
(personally, i don't think she's homophobic, judging by how she seemed to find my slip-ups funny rather than 'disgusting', but it's always better to be safe T_T)
also i was joking with my other friend about how we all had our own sparkle and she asked "what's your sparkle then?" and i was like "idk probs something" and i was about to type 'something gay' but then Google Slides straight-up kicked me out from the slide---pls i forgot not everyone knows i'm gay af---Google Slides is the only thing between me and accidentally outing myself---
(idt this friend is homophobic either, since she seems to respond positively when i talk about having pretty boys and pretty girls in my harem, but again, better safe than sorry)
ah-nee-gays (because i never learn my lesson), i've been struggling a lot with TSP lately because I AM CRAP AT WRITING (as y'alls already know) and everything i write just seems...well, crappy. i've been trying really hard, and i keep rewriting and editing but like people don't seem to like my style (which is totally fine) and i want people to like my style??? but they don't??? so i have concluded that my writing style is terrible and i should probably give up writing altogether and discontinue this book because no one likes it???
we're almost at the end and i still want to discontinue this what is wrong with me IT'S NOT EVEN THAT I DON'T LIKE WRITING IT, I LOVE WRITING IT BUT I'M LIKE 99.9% SURE EVERYONE HATES IT AT THIS POINT actually frick it "it's trash but it's my trash" yee yee we gonna continue because i love to make your eyes bleed 🤠
glossary:
presto - very fast
to all those who were worried about the excessive amount of fluff because you felt something bad was gonna happen, give yourself a pat on the back because GUESS WHAT? YOU WERE RIGHT 😁 welcome BACK to Angstland, sweethearts! we have tissues. nothing but tissues because i know y'alls are gonna cry.
THANK YOU FOR OVER 30K READS!!! This is a really big deal to me (although it may seem kinda small to some other people), since this is my first original fiction to hit even over 10k. (My old-ass fanfics from fetus me don't count.) It's crazy how much TSP has grown (*sniffs* my baby is growing up) Thank you for all your support <3
A/N add-on 13-7 (the rest of the A/N was written wayyy earlier): I'm sorry I didn't update last week. Guess who's been a b#tch? Yes. Covid. I took a hiatus from Wattpad because my dad was diagnosed with Covid and sent to the hospital. He's currently stable and doing better (I hope?) I'm really worried because he's not out of the woods yet, and I'm really close to my dad so I don't know what I'd do without him.
To make matters worse, I tested positive for Covid on Thursday. (Yes, Dad passed it to me. No, he doesn't know. He thinks everything is fine at home. It's really not.) I'm okay rn because my symptoms are a lot milder, so mainly I've been sleeping a lot and quaranteening (read: self-isolating except my mom keeps walking in AGAINST MY ADVICE :/ like Mom cmon pls idw you to get infected---) at home. My mom and grandma are vaccinated (I'm not because they banned under-18s from getting vaccinated), but I'm still bloody worried I'm gonna pass it to them or something (istg i will legit kill myself out of guilt if i infect anyone) Also we're getting like,,,13k,,,cases,,,a day,,,send help ;-;
anygays this a/n is almost 1k words long so imma end it here. thank you for all your support and love, and as usual, please let me know what you thought of this chapter because i thrive off attention (please give me feedback, yes i am a desperate hoe)
i'm sorry this chapter was so bad my excuse is that i got covid and I KNOW that is NOT an excuse for bad writing but it's my excuse, deal with it :/
ily all ok bye for real this time
xoxo, Alex