Was reading 'Garden Spells' by Sarah Addison Allen and listening to 'Run' by Snow Patrol as well as 'Like You' by Evanescence. Good stuff, good inspiration. The lyrics in this chapter are definitely 100% mine so don't sue please.

#12. In A Good Mood

If 'dark' was a person, Hwoarang would have definitely seen him in his reflection. Sometimes he wondered if the gods or whatever flounced around in the sky above did take pleasure in punishing him as they saw fit. If he were as immortal and mythical as Hercules, he'd have already journeyed to Mount Olympus and exacted his vengeance. But Hercules was a son of Zeus, thus a son of a god and Hwoarang was only an unfortunate incident staining his parents' pasts. An image of a bed crept into his mind, pillows knocked onto the carpet and sheets stained with foulness that bespoke a mistake… which had happened too early to reverse…

Yesterday had been the second worst day of his life.

The arguments he'd been a part of along with his tired and wary friends were still left unfinished, festering in leftover adrenalin and misery. Harsh words, slamming doors, accusations not too far from fact, he'd inflicted his own wounds and they'd countered to add to it. A hard truth was better than a gentle lie but that didn't make it hurt any less.

He strummed away, acoustic and bare. Humming to no particular tune. Sad and desolate, no alien substances to soften his thoughts.

"Hmm… hmm… hmm… hmm…"

This was his life. Or at least, the ragged tear-soaked pieces of it. He saw it as an empty house, bereft and weeping for want of warmth. It was grey and dismal with cobwebs lining blackened nooks and crannies. There were a few skeletons hidden as well. As he painted the drab picture, he poured his colors into the strings shuddering beneath his fingers. This wasn't a stage, there was no audience present to witness his lonely breakdown so he didn't have to ravage them as he was wont to do. The notes that rose from them sounded pathetically thin and weak compared to the scorching wails the world knew. It brought him back to the start, when he'd just begun learning to find his way around the guitar. The plain instrument had offered him some solace from home and he was forever thankful for that. Even his mother hadn't seemed to mind… perhaps she assumed that it would keep him from getting in his father's way.

She would occasionally slip inside his room whilst he practiced cross-legged on the floor. The cool marble relaxed him and he'd slide his fingers on it when he felt tired. He would pretend that he didn't notice her standing behind his desk all the while knowing that she knew his little game. After a few minutes, maybe half an hour, he'd feel her slim fingers sliding through his hair. He'd continue, pretending that he didn't care and then she would bend down and kiss the top of his head gently. With a soft sigh, she'd turn and walk away and he'd watch her as she left, trying to figure out what she'd come for. He'd never know now. He could've asked…

He stopped playing, instead clasping the wood and fiber-glass closer.

A few breaths later, the tensed muscles in his arms and back relaxed.

One thing he missed about winter was the nights. They were long and silent so that he could hear his heart beat. When the world lay dead and cold, he needed a reminder that he was alive like the steady rhythm of his heart pumping against his flattened palm on his chest. A woman's heart beat at a faster rate than a man's, was that why they seemed so different when they were the same? That, he noted, was a question that Julia would have asked on a lonely winter's night when they had nothing better to do than ask each other things that neither could answer.

Quite some time ago, he'd been caught off-guard by an overexcited young fan when she'd leapt from a nearby crowd and clung to his back as quick as a magnet on metal. He'd never caught as much as a glimpse of her because she'd been snatched away so fast. All he could remember of her was heated breath rushing down the back of his throat and a slight nudge of force where her elbows and fingers had dug into his sides. Her perfume had smelt spicy, evergreen like pine trees on fire. For a moment, he had felt good to know that someone had wanted him even if it was for a selfish, material, carnal purpose of having what no one else owned. A piece of his flesh, sweat-stained from rough shows and honed to perfection from gossip-fueled rumors of one night stands and toxic affairs.

Years before that, it had been him and another girl, both teenagers on the threshold of something new and unfamiliar. It had been him and her in a den, a log fire burning to keep the chill of November frost at bay. Their song was just like the one he was playing now, untouched and alive with a low flame. Just them alone, in a crystal ball of dim white light, looking out at the frozen streets lined with falling snowflakes. He held the guitar aloft in his arms as her head rested on his back. He played, played away into the night and she kept her songs in silence. Her hair smelt like thyme and basil. The cotton of her shirt had felt nice and soft under his touch. Occasionally, she'd lean forward and kiss him, anywhere, on his cheek, jaw, the side of his neck, wherever instinct told her. When he couldn't hold it in any longer, he laid her down on the warmed duvet, pulled the cotton shirt up and over her head and buried his face in the vast earthy strands of her hair. The song would continue without its one-man orchestra, the snow would keep on descending and the two of them lay awake, breathing in the essence of the other.

She'd thought that they would be together forever.

For him, there was no such thing as 'forever'. There was only a series of events, fortunate and unfortunate. His mind remained hollow, living and breathing in the fumes of the past. The desperate belief she harbored for a future that could be theirs worried him. It wasn't like anyone to view him as someone who could be trusted with a heart that wasn't his own. He himself was the last person he would ever trust with her.

The bond they shared kept him tied to her by means of wavering trust. He asked himself why had he even thought of taking what they had this far without warning her beforehand. To touch fire, you had to endure the burn. As he watched her sleep soundly in his arms that night, he knew that he couldn't put her through that. He would never forgive himself for causing her suffering. For once in his life, he willed himself to be both selfish and a martyr as he came to his decision.

He would break that bond.

The breaking point came with Master Baek's demise. It had been an inevitable day he'd dreaded. There always had to come a time where everyone he knew would disappear before he could have a chance to say goodbye. Things never were permanent in his world so he didn't believe in 'forever'. On that day, he'd stopped believing in destiny. He'd stopped wishing for better days and he never wanted to look back. The ground he stood on was nothing but dead like Baek, cold and lifeless, silent and still, an empty deceitful plotter who gave little and took whatever it could manage. Here below him lay one who had offered him guidance, away in a distant memory lay two had given back nothing but the scars they'd carved on him.

"Hwoarang, you're not alright."

"… No, I…"

"Could I help?"

"… I…"

"You know… I'm still here. Does that help?"

"Jules…"

"I'll always be here for you."

"Julia… we have to talk."

He didn't have to. She'd already realized.

Four little words had killed it all.

A week later, he'd bid her goodbye in the midst of the pouring rain. Using this as an excuse to pull the hood of his coat over his head, he nodded in an attempt to make things easier. She stood still, meek but steadfast and nodded back, not daring to speak. The worst part had been when he'd turned back and glanced at her fast shrinking form behind the road his bike took him down. A lonely figure wrapped in black and blue, one hand raised and waving in a frail show of courage.

That had been the worst day of Hwoarang's life.

His sight grew blurry from the recurring ache in his spirit but he still held tight to the guitar. Not even the streams of hot tears already trickling down his cheeks and off his chin stopped him. Lyrics were starting to sprout from the epiphany of sorts but he could barely reach out for a pen, much less jot them down before he forgot. It ached, ached so much, worse than before, more than anything…

He flung the dead instrument from his hands and sunk to the floor.

And he wept.

When he lifted his heavy eyelids open, it was already late in the morning. The wall clock revealed the time to be somewhere between half past eleven and noon. He had fallen asleep on the floor last night after that bout of sobbing had exhausted him to the core. The pain still echoed inside him, jarring him whenever the sunlight hit his face.

As he picked himself up and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, he winced. Moving closer to the glass, he could see the damage wrought upon by his self-imposed denial. His light brown eyes were tinged with red at the corners and his hair was a matted mess plastered to his scalp. The words of someone he couldn't place a face on rang true in his ears.

"Look at you! You're a fuckin' mess!"

Drawing the curtains of his bedroom window shut, he leaned against the wall and pressed his cheek to the cool concrete. He remained like this for a while before he finally chose to focus his attention on the note scrawled in black ink on white lined paper taped to his door since last night.

I've locked you inside here for the time being until you can pull yourself together. Don't bother trying to drown your sorrows in booze coz there isn't any. When you're feeling better, Lani would like you to call her. Do not, I repeat, DO NOT try the windows. They've been bolted for your safety. You can hate on me later.

J

He shook his head. The urge to escape hadn't crossed his mind. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he picked up the guitar from its resting place and tried to pick up from where he'd left off. It seemed as easy as collecting water in a sieve… simpler than it seemed. He just had to find a way around it. Somehow.

"Hey…"

When thunder strikes, it illuminates surroundings in a flash that lasts only a second. Be careful, take your time, and observe quickly for time never stops. He began to whisper, part song and part chant, all melancholy.

"You know I never meant to hurt you."

Hush… grieve in peace.

"Speak out for me

Just so I know you're somewhere.

Cry so I know I'm not alone.

Just call for me so I'll come.

Hope keeps lying,

The dark keeps me searching,

And all I need is a beacon to show me the way.

But where do I hide?

Where do I fall?

Where do I rest my troubled mind…"

He strummed away, his audience lingering in the absence of light and a good mood.