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writetomyheart2015-07-07 05:42 pm
jojibear.livejournal.com) wrote in writetomyheart2015-07-07 05:42 pm
Entry tags:
[Team SONIC] I am home
LOOK AT THIS TEAM GO *U*
Starting word from here, and related to this, this and this.
Starting word from here, and related to this, this and this.
Home had been, to Hakyeon, an abstract concept, a word he knew the definition of but had no idea of how it actually applied to real life — to his life.
For a while, he wondered if the place he had grown up in counted as home. After all, even though he had known there was no permanence in his residence there, he definitely started his life within the confines of its whitewashed walls and sterile corridors. And while he had lived there, he had been comforted by its never-changing-ness.
But then he had been bought and taken away from the place he had grown up in.
For a long while he had definitely considered the house of his owner as home, the place he would now live in permanently. He had been adopted into this family, after all, had been given a room of his own, clothes of his own to fill up a closet of his own. Unless his owner found himself unable to supply Hakyeon's most basic needs of food and shelter, there was no reason for Hakyeon to leave, and that was highly unlikely to ever happen — ever. So Hakyeon had thought he had found his home within the walls of this large, red-bricked mansion house.
But then circumstances changed, and Hakyeon left the place he had thought he could call home, fleeing his lavishly decorated room in the dead of the night with only the clothes on his back and small, light bag of spare clothing and favourite trinkets. He ran, despite the protests of his bruised and aching body, as far as he could, towards a part of town his owner would hopefully not search for him in. He did not want to be found — no, he would not let himself be found and dragged back into that house of torment.
So he ran and he ran, until he could run no more, until all he could do was find as dark and obscure a corner as he could so he could curl up and rest for a very little while before he had to run again.
Only, he didn't have to run again — and now he knew he never would — because he had been found by a soft-voiced, sharp-eyed young man, barely older than Hakyeon himself. It had been this quiet stranger who had taken Hakyeon to his home and gently washed away the grime of the streets off his face and numerous wounds, who fed Hakyeon almost to the point of bursting while he carefully patched up his injuries.
Taekwoon, Hakyeon later found out, had found him curled up behind the dust bin after following the persistant mewling of a stray cat standing guard over Hakyeon's prone body. As a lover of All Things Soft, Warm and Furry, Taekwoon had been unable to ignore that distress call, and he had found it harder to walk away from the injured hybrid.
After hearing Hakeyon's story, he found it practically impossible to let Hakyeon walk away.
Before Hakyeon even knew what has happening, he found himself settling into the spare room of Taekwoon's apartment, his trinkets displayed around the room amongst a growing collection of newly acquired treasures. The spare clothes he had brought with him slowly disappeared from his new wardrobe one by one, to be replaced with new items he had chosen himself.
And so it stayed this way, a week turning into a month, which turned into a season and then a year — two years of laughter and warmth and moments of soft, quiet intimacy. And suddenly, as Hakyeon packed away his things for the big move from Taekwoon's small apartment to their newly built cottage across the country, he was struck by the thought that he had found his place of comfort and shelter.
He had found his home.
For a while, he wondered if the place he had grown up in counted as home. After all, even though he had known there was no permanence in his residence there, he definitely started his life within the confines of its whitewashed walls and sterile corridors. And while he had lived there, he had been comforted by its never-changing-ness.
But then he had been bought and taken away from the place he had grown up in.
For a long while he had definitely considered the house of his owner as home, the place he would now live in permanently. He had been adopted into this family, after all, had been given a room of his own, clothes of his own to fill up a closet of his own. Unless his owner found himself unable to supply Hakyeon's most basic needs of food and shelter, there was no reason for Hakyeon to leave, and that was highly unlikely to ever happen — ever. So Hakyeon had thought he had found his home within the walls of this large, red-bricked mansion house.
But then circumstances changed, and Hakyeon left the place he had thought he could call home, fleeing his lavishly decorated room in the dead of the night with only the clothes on his back and small, light bag of spare clothing and favourite trinkets. He ran, despite the protests of his bruised and aching body, as far as he could, towards a part of town his owner would hopefully not search for him in. He did not want to be found — no, he would not let himself be found and dragged back into that house of torment.
So he ran and he ran, until he could run no more, until all he could do was find as dark and obscure a corner as he could so he could curl up and rest for a very little while before he had to run again.
Only, he didn't have to run again — and now he knew he never would — because he had been found by a soft-voiced, sharp-eyed young man, barely older than Hakyeon himself. It had been this quiet stranger who had taken Hakyeon to his home and gently washed away the grime of the streets off his face and numerous wounds, who fed Hakyeon almost to the point of bursting while he carefully patched up his injuries.
Taekwoon, Hakyeon later found out, had found him curled up behind the dust bin after following the persistant mewling of a stray cat standing guard over Hakyeon's prone body. As a lover of All Things Soft, Warm and Furry, Taekwoon had been unable to ignore that distress call, and he had found it harder to walk away from the injured hybrid.
After hearing Hakeyon's story, he found it practically impossible to let Hakyeon walk away.
Before Hakyeon even knew what has happening, he found himself settling into the spare room of Taekwoon's apartment, his trinkets displayed around the room amongst a growing collection of newly acquired treasures. The spare clothes he had brought with him slowly disappeared from his new wardrobe one by one, to be replaced with new items he had chosen himself.
And so it stayed this way, a week turning into a month, which turned into a season and then a year — two years of laughter and warmth and moments of soft, quiet intimacy. And suddenly, as Hakyeon packed away his things for the big move from Taekwoon's small apartment to their newly built cottage across the country, he was struck by the thought that he had found his place of comfort and shelter.
He had found his home.