I am so so sorry for the delay. Assignments have me on my toes at college and there's this meeting and that bake-sale… you get my drift? Anyways, thanks for reading. I've been losing a lot of motivation to write fanfiction nowadays but I was browsing through some of the reviews I've got for the last year or so (has it really been that long?) and some of them were more awe-inspiring than my own writing :D. Thanks, guys. I'm so glad I do make some people happy by doing what I do.

#21. Extortion

The leaves were already turning brown. Some were gold, some were still moss-green. The air seemed a little warmer though when I stepped inside. Behind, wheels turned as beds and chairs were moved from one room to another. Some of them contained people, quiet, complaining, resigned, stubborn, all types to make a world. Victims of violence, some of them were. Some would pillage and plunder through any means possible to end their pain. Pastel-colored prescription pills, sachets filled with morphine, the whole nine yards and beyond. Euthanasia even.

And then there's you. Silent and still beneath your white sheets.

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty."

I kiss your forehead, your eyes remain closed. I drag my hand out of my pocket and slide it against the bruise on your shoulder, thinking that maybe a pulse of warmth from my body heat would stir you awake. No such luck.

"Take your time. As long as you like."

Michelle walks away, the grey under her eyes all the more apparent. Somewhere, a leaf falls and a newborn baby cries.

That day, after I left you at your house, I tried to get out of there as fast as I could. But I looked back and there you were, waving goodbye like an abandoned child. You know what really got me then? Me neither. For a second, I wanted to turn back but… the rain began to fall and I drew my hood over my head. And I was moving on my own accord with nothing to hold me down anymore.

I stopped at the airport and watched the planes come in. I saw this guy across the street, tall and stiff and acting out his own made-up agendas. He would pace, stop, swear a bit for the hell of it, repeat as he liked, this air and flow of nonchalance floating above him like cigarette smoke. Jittery muscles, like he was high on something but not enough for him to completely lose it. I don't think he was lost, like you know, looking for something. Maybe he thought this was all he'd amount to, another body in city full of them, Chock-full, streaming, overflowing, maybe he'd fall out with the excess. He started bouncing on the soles of his feet, he was restless and so hollow that his breaths came out in whispers.

He spun a little as his feet ricocheted off the puddle he'd just splashed. Hair flashing up, down, sideways, around his head, a taut smile stretching his lips. No, not a smile, a grimace seemed more like it.

The water splashed and broke the reflection.

He was me. I was gone.

Starting anew had been harder than I thought. I don't like beginning from scratch. J and Han were familiar so I clung to them. Changes happened, Kim came along and I had to get used to another shadow alongside mine as we practiced. I kept the unease at bay until I could finally accept it. We worked, played, laughed, smiled, joked around like good friends are supposed to do. I guess that's how I coped for a while, keeping busy so that I could take my mind off me.

You know how they say that trouble breeds the best art? It's true and, in our case, it sold. Red hair and brown eyes would have been nothing but ordinary were it not for less-than-perfect souls behind them. People like flaws, more so than perfection. It gives you a kick when you see someone more fucked up than you.

So I wrote and I strummed and I sang and everyone lapped it up and no matter how tired I'd get, the cheers would keep me awake and smiling for the cameras.

Round and round

Down and down we go.

And the evening light

Shall be our only guide.

If I ever did want to drop dead, I'd think of Mum, Dad and Baek and then I'd just keep going like there was no tomorrow. Dove deeper and deeper until I couldn't find my way back up again. Got so used to the dark that the lights blinded me when I got my head back to reality again. We would walk the same paths and I'd notice how our footsteps were out of sync. Han never walks. He jogs, hops, saunters, lumbers when he's drunk or sleepy, occasionally breaking into a stumble if he's really excited. Kim walks, J strolls, each to his own drum and I try to keep in line with them to feel like a part of the gang. But my steps are too fast or not at all coordinated, too slow or straying off the path at some points. It's plain to see as to how well I fit in.

I once tried walking to set my mind at ease. It needed an anchor to settle so I used to walk by the ocean, listen to the waves break and watch the foam rise on each new crest. Even better if it rained. The drops splashing were the drums and the hum of the sea was the bass. I didn't have to sing.

The waves would crash down but I wouldn't stop.

I walked.

I ran.

I tried to fly. Tried to fly.

When it rained, I'd come back soaked to the bone. J would click his tongue in disgust and give me a new shirt to wear. I'd sit down, my hands around a steaming mug of something dark and strong, keeping the chattering of my teeth at a low. My eyes would close, my head would fall so low that my chin nudged my chest and my mind would wander, this constant state of perpetual motion by which I'd slowly drift away from the present like a piece of flotsam in the sea. Pace, stroll, walk, jog, run, fly…

I'd dream about demons at night. Wisps of slithering matter that talked in tongues only I could understand. They'd tell me awful truths about myself which the sea couldn't drown. Alcohol would numb the pain at first, and then amplify it. Drugs would twist it out of proportion. Women made it taste sweeter for the one night that you had them. Then again, they gave me words to croon anyway I pleased. Just sugarcoat the facts and sell them. Showbiz in a nutshell. Girls in songs never grow old because they're only names on paper napkins at the end of a long night. Golden-haired girls, gold-tinted bottles of beer, gold glints as beady-eyed execs take you in. It makes sense.

I'd read your e-mails and listen to your voice the few times you called. Each time, it sounded like you were getting used to me being out of your life. You were moving forward, walking ahead of me and I could still feel the trace of your hand in mine. Each time you called, I'd promise myself to let go and cleanse myself for a fresh start. Each time we hung up, I wanted to run back to your house a thousand miles away.

"Hey… look over here. It's me."

"Hey… look over here. It's me." I repeat what you said to me the first time as I watch you sleep. Do you see me now? Could you hear my voice if I sang to you again?

"I'm so happy that I could get to see you, Hwoarang."

I wish you could see me now too.

"Home is where your heart is."

Cheesy as it sounds, I've found it. Hey Jules, I'm finally home…

"Walk away with me."

I close my eyes and follow you as Autumn enters early and leaves us alone in our world of simple joy. The leaves fall and brush past your hair. I envy them. You turn your head and I think I see you smile. Wry, a little sad and lopsided. It strikes me that you're beautiful. For a few moments, my fingertips graze your cheek and you're walking ahead again. Away from me, away from me. Slow down a bit, I wanna see that smile again. This time, it'll be permanent.

"Is there something… well, anything… that I can do?"

Come back to me. Believe me when I say that I missed you. Remember me? I'm the guy your mother told you to stay away from. I sure remember you, the one I was bound to corrupt. Remember me and the paper boats I made for you on a rainy day? Remember my voice as I called you by anything but your name? I'll take you on a real boat someday, one which won't sink, and we'll go look at the skyline from the sea.

"I'm glad you're here. With me."

"Good. Good job. I'm so proud of you."

Maybe life is really all about give and take. You get what you give, you take whatever you find. People want what you have and they do anything to snatch it from you. Maybe you'd just hand it over for the right price. The punishment or reward is usually never proportional to what you did to deserve it. Everything I touch withers and dies. A long time ago, I washed my hands clean. I can still feel the dirt in my veins. Life could be an extortion for all I know. We all inhale the same air but we each deserve something better or worse than we end up with.

But when I'm with you, I see things as how they should be.

Music gives my life a purpose.

You give it meaning.

The weakening light and the falling temperature drove Michelle back indoors. Her tribe had always been people of the sun. The cold was just another enemy to fight against, like hungry wolves and greedy white men wielding weapons broader than their mindsets. She walked slowly, dragging her steps out to preserve energy and listened to the wind whispering through the leaves.

A draft caught her attention.

The door was still open.

Michelle leaned in and took in the sight. Hwoarang had fallen asleep kneeling at the bed with his head on his arms. Julia lay unconscious still, her soft breathing keeping in time with the heart monitor.

Any day? Any time now?

She stood there for a minute or so, contemplating whether to rouse him. Chances were that he was dreaming of her, just like he'd told her. Despite her misgivings, there was a part of her that wanted to believe in him and the lyrical propensity of his words. He had a charm about him that she couldn't remember him having a few years ago. Fame changed people for the worst or so she'd heard. Yet she'd heard sincerity in his tone, a rare trait to display when you were on show. She'd gotten so used to hearing nothing but sterilized half-truths delivered by doctors trying their best to stifle her fears that it had been a relief to hear something so alive and full of color.

Yes, she could see the light. Small as the flame on a candlestick but a light in the dark nonetheless.

A miracle was all she expected. She didn't need to remind him of that new burden on his shoulders.

Michelle shut the door on her way out. The lovebirds needed more time to reacquaint themselves.

Jukebox: Stars and Boulevards by Augustana, Walking After You by The Foo Fighters, It's Been a While by Staind and Sail Away With Me by David Gray.