Chapter Text
There were so many things Donghyuck wished he could do.
So many things he wanted to experience.
A little fun in his life is all he wanted — just a feeling of something real. Something genuine.
But as the illegitimate son of a reputable family, Donghyuck had been forced to live a sheltered life from the moment he was born. He never got the privilege of having choice — not a single chance.
But it’s just the silly little things that may seem mundane to many that Donghyuck wishes he could try doing at least once in his life.
He wanted to learn how to ride a bicycle, the same way how kids do with their parents cheering beside them.
He wanted to sneak out to grab a midnight snack and have a small picnic by the Han River all night until dawn, laughing with friends he didn’t have — just like how it’s shown in K-dramas.
He wanted to know what it felt like when his hand brushed against someone he liked — that soft, electric spark people in movies and books talked about.
He wanted to take lazy walks on a chilly night in the park. To wander through Seoul’s busy streets on happening nights.
To have sleepovers, pillow fights, and spending his mornings patting his neighbours’ puppies and kittens that would pass by.
He wanted to go to school — to stay in a dorm with a roommate who’d become his best friend, someone he could walk to class with and join clubs together.
He wanted to work part-time in a fried chicken shop, maybe steal a few bites during his break when no one is looking.
He wanted to learn something new —anything other than cooking and baking — the only skills he’d ever known in the tiny world he was allowed to live in.
There were more things. So many more.
A list that felt endless.
All written neatly on a piece of paper pinned to the magnetic board above his desk — his life bucket list.
But none of them ever happened.
There was no one to teach him, no one to even tell him how.
Not only did he never have the privilege to be granted those little things, but there was also no one there to guide or teach him anything at all.
All his life, Donghyuck had been his own companion, his own teacher, his own parent.
He had basically raised himself.
Donghyuck refuses to acknowledge the efforts (or lack thereof) of his father and stepmother—not when all they ever did was lock him up in an empty apartment, leaving him alone his whole life with no one but a few guards outside the entrance to make sure he doesn’t mess up.
Doesn’t mess up—for them, that is.
The night outside was silent, except for the distant hum of traffic that mocked his solitude. Even the city lights filtering through the curtains looked cold and far away, a reminder that life was happening somewhere else — just not here.
Not for him.
From his bed where he was lying stiffly on his back, Donghyuck turned to glare at his long list of unrealistic dreams that was neatly pinned at the centre of the board.
It used to act as a motivation and a constant reminder of what he would achieve once he finally comes of age and was no longer the business of his two useless parents.
But now, all it does is stare back at Donghyuck pathetically, as if saying, "I told you so," reminding Donghyuck of the lingering doubts he had when coming up with that very checklist.
He really should’ve known better than to think he’d ever get the chance to live his life freely the way he wanted.
Staring specifically at the little smiley face that he doodled beside where he wrote “A MUST DO BUCKET LIST!” , he finds himself sniffling lightly at the mere sight of it.
It reminds him of innocence; of how naive he was; of the enthusiasm that flowed through his body when he wrote it; of the positivity and spirit that little Donghyuck once had, even when the whole world was against him.
They were all long gone by now.
The air suddenly felt heavier, pressing down on his chest. For a brief moment, the silence in the room became deafening, as if even the four walls of his room were pressing on his body.
Before his welling tears could fall, Donghyuck harshly rubs his knuckles against his eyes in frustration as he gets up, taking three long strides toward his desk.
He hastily tears the list away from its designated spot, not caring about the clinking sound of the magnet falling. He rips the already crumpled paper apart, sobbing his heart out as he drops to the ground.
He trashes everything within arm’s reach, throwing a childish tantrum for no one to see.
But there wasn’t ever anyone anyway, to begin with.
All hope was lost, and he felt nothing but hatred for everything—his parents, his life, even God, and everything in between.
Even himself.
Having thrown the last object close to him, there was nothing left but the trashcan under the desk for him to take his frustration out on.
It only took one glance, and without a single care left in him, he grabs the bin with a loud huff and tosses it at the wall, letting out a heart-wrenching scream.
The sound of the plastic object hitting the wall and falling to the ground echoes through the room as all the accumulated waste scatters into the air.
A sharp smell of dust fills the air as papers flutter around him, landing softly on the carpet like fallen feathers.
The room looks wrecked.
Almost just as wrecked as him.
A piece of cardboard-like paper falls onto Donghyuck, scraping his hand and leaving a mild paper cut that’s barely visible against his tan skin. It prompts him to drop his head and look for the culprit behind the little blood on his hand, only to see an all-too-familiar invitation card lying just above his fingertip.
With shaky hands, he picks up the card slowly, already feeling his eyes water again. He opens the bifold card and reads its horrifying contents for the thousandth time, glaring at the words as if hoping the printed letters would change if he stares long enough.
“Mr Mark Lee & Mr Donghyuck Lee
request the honour of your presence at their wedding celebration on Monday, 31 January 2021”
Donghyuck tosses the shredded pieces of linen paper out his bedroom window before heading for the shower.