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chenfleur · 1 year ago

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the long way home

summary. in which park sunghoon decides that nothing is more important than having you in his life.

pairing. sunghoon x y/n ft jake genre. high school au, fluff, angst word count. 4.8k released. 11.05.2023 author's note. experimented with writing style so sorry if this is bad and makes no sense 💔 enjoy 🙏

masterlist

"Two cotton candies, please."

The first time Park Sunghoon speaks to you, you're dressed head-to-toe in a blinding, neon pink.

The fundraiser uniform was your co-president's idea. She'd suggested it offhandedly in a delirious, late-night planning session, and in a rather unserious fashion, you'd agreed. It's hilarity overruled any embarrassment bundled with it.

When Park Sunghoon is the one standing in front of you, embarrassment crashes into you with the force of an eighteen wheeler.

His presence is overwhelming. It looms over you as you prepare his order. It sends a shiver down your spine, which is absurd when you've never even met him.

Someone could tell you that Sunghoon lives on a completely separate plane of existence and you'd believe them without thinking twice.

He's the basketball team's star player. He adorns the number twenty-three with poise and grace. He's the principal actor in people's dreams and fantasies.

To you, Park Sunghoon is like the moon.

Beautiful, and so, so far away.

The two cotton candies you hand him are less than perfect. Without much thought, a mumbled apology falls from your lips. He still accepts them with a polite smile. It sends a nervous jolt to your chest.

You watch him as he walks away and joins Jake Sim's side, handing him one of the cotton candies.

You know Jake Sim from your physics class. He catches your eye and sends you a friendly wave. You shoot him one back before hastily turning around.

A second later and you would have noticed Sunghoon's gaze, lingering.

Tuesday after school, Sunghoon agrees to meet with Jay and Jake in the East Wing.

He leans against a locker, watching his two friends bicker with each other. Occasionally cracking a smile when one of them says something particularly nonsensical.

Someone rushes past him. His breath hitches. Gaze flickering. When they stop in front of a classroom door, Sunghoon realizes it's you.

You knock on the door. While you wait, he takes you in.

The way your yellow sundress hugs your body in all of the right places. The way the pearl barrettes clipped to your hair reflect the afternoon sun. The way you tug the sleeves of your cardigan down over your hands. Sunghoon has the urge to roll them back up and interlock his fingers with yours.

Each second Sunghoon spends taking you in, his chest grows tighter.

The metal behind him is suddenly freezing to the touch. It bleeds through the fabric of his shirt. Pierces his shoulder blades. Is he shivering? He doesn't know.

The classroom door is opened. Another girl appears in the threshold, an easy smile on her face. The two of you exchange words before breaking out into giggles.

Park Sunghoon takes notice of you.

There’s a part of him that finds it unbelievable that he hadn’t done it earlier. There’s another that is deeply unsettled about it happening at all.

Either way, he takes great care in memorizing the outline of your figure. Grasping onto each note of your laughter.

Sunghoon bails on this week's team outing. His reason is that he has an important language arts assignment due at 11:59PM.

He isn't lying. His teacher had carved the words ‘no excuses’ into the very core of his being.

When the words on his page start looking like globs of nonsense, Sunghoon’s mind drifts.

The basketball season begins soon. Who is the first game against?

He searches up the school website intending to find the season schedule.

He pauses when he sees a photo of you.

It’s from the other day. The same day Sunghoon saw you in that pretty sundress. You’re watching the other people in the photo strike funny poses with a soft, tender smile on your lips.

The list of names goes left to right, top to bottom. Sunghoon’s eyes dart around.

L/N Y/N.

That night, Sunghoon has an important language arts assignment due at 11:59PM. His teacher had carved the words ‘no excuses’ into the very core of his being.

That night, Sunghoon spends his time learning about you.

Curiosity spared no mercy for the cat. You pray it's kinder to you.

There are three other water fountains located around the school, all perfectly capable of refilling your water bottle. Yet, their existence escapes you when you realize the person using the one you'd chosen to go to is Park Sunghoon.

You try to leave. You can't. His presence binds the soles of your feet to the tiles of the floor.

The first game of the season is a few, short weeks away. The air is full of the distant screeching of basketballs. Sunghoon's hair is damp with sweat. His arms and nape glisten under the fluorescent lighting.

Sunghoon's lips leave the jet of water. A loud exhale follows. You watch as he wipes harshly at the corners of his mouth.

When he turns around, his eyes widen. He looks surprised to see you.

Why wouldn't he? The two of you are strangers. Mutuals, at best.

Yet, he doesn't move from his spot. He doesn't cast his eyes away or walk past you.

His stare is heavy. You feel like he's peering into your soul. Judging it. Tearing it to shreds.

He silently moves to the side. You realize he's making way for you to use the fountain. Embarrassment floods your system.

The sound of running water ceases when your foot lifts off the pedal. A double twist ensures the cap of your bottle is screwed shut. You're set to leave.

But a hand encircles your wrist, stopping you. Spinning you around.

You're inches away from Park Sunghoon.

You're shocked.

You don't tug away.

Your eyes dart around his face, searching for an explanation. His expression is indecipherable. He suddenly won't meet your gaze, only unravelling your closed fist with gentle fingers.

You notice a slip of paper clasped in his hold. You watch it as he places it into your open palm.

His voice is near silent. Words evaporating when they leave his lips and hit air. You manage to catch them before they're completely gone.

"Call me."

When Sunghoon is sure the slip is securely slotted in your hand, he leaves.

There is an unfathomable amount of things Sunghoon's worried about. You throwing his number away. Laughing at him. Thinking he's a freak.

But in the deepest part of his brain, where he keeps his muscle memory of how to ride a bike or snap his fingers, the voice of his first ever coach resounds; something about missing one hundred percent of the shots he never takes. Sunghoon thinks he's heard it more in his lifetime than he's heard his own name.

It dawns on him that you being in his life, as even just the smallest of features, was not a shot he was willing to ruin.

You call Sunghoon at a quarter past midnight.

The clock on your wall ticks loudly, mocking you for taking so long.

You don't expect him to pick up at all. You don't need him to. Hearing his voicemail would be enough to assure you that what had happened was real. That it wasn't a figment of your imagination.

Park Sunghoon had left you paralyzed. All of your work had been neglected because of that crinkled slip of paper.

It's been on the edge of your desk for hours. It taunts you.

When you will yourself to call him, you had climbed onto your bed. The slip of paper stayed on your desk, untouched.

You didn't need it to call him. The digits of his phone number were already engraved in your head from how many times you thumbed over them on the way home from school.

The line rings. Once. Twice. Three times.

"Hello?"

You finally breathe.

"Sunghoon?"

A pause. Shuffling sounds from the receiver. "Y/N?"

"You told me to call you."

"I'm happy you did."

You hear the sound of birds singing.

You wonder if it's coming from outside or the other end of the line.

"Sunghoon?"

"Mm?"

"It's nearly six. We have school soon."

A huff. "Shit."

You break out into a smile.

Sunghoon makes hours feel like seconds. Conversation flows between the two of you with the ease of changing seasons. You don't think you could ever grow tired of listening to his voice.

There's a certain playful lilt to it. Teasing, yet kind. Each syllable spoken with a gentleness you can't quite grasp. Each boyish laugh that leaves his lips sweeping you off your feet. When periods of silence dotted your conversations, his slow breaths filled them in.

He had yawned, here and there. You told him to go to sleep. He refused. You didn't protest. Selfishly, you wanted to have him for a bit longer.

You can't discern what about him makes your insides turn upside down. He makes you feel vulnerable. All he'd have to do is ask and you'd be willing to bare your soul to him.

You decide you're okay with that.

"Y/N?"

"Yes?"

"Talk to you soon?"

"Yeah."

Your friendship with Sunghoon is a quiet one.

It's found behind small actions that seem to communicate everything.

Candies slipped into lockers. Split-second eye contact in the halls. Candid photos of each other in the courtyard. Your eyes searching the cluster of players during games from above, his searching each row of the bleachers from on the court.

It's hidden away from prying eyes, and that makes you cherish it even more.

At the first game of the season, Park Sunghoon scores a tie-breaking basket just as the countdown hit zero.

The gymnasium erupts into a thundering ovation. His teammates roar with victory. Tackling him to the ground. Clapping him on the back. Hoisting him into the air, tossing him up. Your heart lurches at the absolutely radiant smile on his face.

Chants of his name fill the entire venue. The commentator's voice booms through the speakers. Ladies and gentlemen, number twenty-three: Park Sunghoon.

You silently watch the scene, a ghost of a smile on your lips.

The difference between the intensity of a crowd and the stillness of the night air is jarring.

Park Sunghoon confuses you. You don't know how he has the opportunity or the desire to meet you after the game. He should be out with his teammates celebrating.

Instead, you receive a message to wait by the West gate.

Tonight is colder than usual. Icy wind grazes your bare knees. As you wait, anticipation knocks at your front door. You let it in when you catch sight of Sunghoon making his way towards you, a golden medal dangling from his neck.

He's glowing. Victory looks good on him.

A gasp escapes you when your feet leave the ground. Sunghoon spins you around in his arms, adorable giggles falling from his lips. Blissful warmth sprawls across your chest, seeping in every crevice.

"Tonight's MVP and you still have time to spare for me?" you tease, eyes shining.

"I have all the time in the world for you."

Sunghoon recounts the game with fervor. Galaxies swirl in his irises. You wonder if you'd ever feel as elated as he looks.

When he embraces you again, head slotting into the crook of your neck, holding you like he never wants to let go, your wonders are answered.

Park Sunghoon does not idle.

He walks with a destination in mind. He gives courteous greetings to those who he passes by in the halls, but his movements never stop.

The only thing Sunghoon willingly stops for is the sunset.

On days where he leaves school late, he takes the long way home. Down a street lined with yellow ginkgo trees, a left turn too early. Across the bridge bound for the city centre.

The long way home never really takes him home.

Sunghoon ends up on a pier in the harbour, letting vermillion and marigold rays of warmth soak into each pore of his skin. Unwinding with a low puff of air.

Recently, Sunghoon stops for you, too.

Whenever he sees you, there's a stutter in his strides. A stiffness in his fingers. A clog in his airway. The world around him starts to spin, yet he himself freezes.

The next time Sunghoon takes the long way home, he stays with the sunset for longer than usual. He sits instead of standing, letting his feet dangle off of the pier's edge. It makes the sloshing sound of the water below him even clearer.

Sunghoon closes his eyes. He inhales the salty, sweet air. Feels his teammates hugging him. Hears hundreds of people chanting his name.

Sunghoon closes his eyes, and sees you.

It takes ten games for defeat to seize Sunghoon by the throat.

Under the dim light of the locker room, Jake eyes his friend warily. He searches for any sign of emotion in the lines of his stone cold face. If he didn't know him any better, he'd believe he's simply reserved.

But Jake Sim has spent too much time uncovering Park Sunghoon to be ignorant to his character.

He’s torturing himself.

"Jay," Jake whispers. Caution laces his voice. "I feel like we should do something."

Jay's eyes flit over Sunghoon's figure. The air is heavy before he responds.

"I think it’s best we don’t pry."

When the sound of their steps fade away, Park Sunghoon drives his fist into a locker door.

He knew something was off. When their score plateaued while the opposition's climbed. Frowns painted themselves on his teammates' faces. Shots kept getting fumbled. Intercepted. Rolling off the rim.

Sunghoon feels his knuckles throb as he lets his hand fall to the side.

Anger and guilt are a dangerous pairing. They swirl in the pit of his stomach like a storm and render him feeling weak.

He hates how badly he's taking this.

"Sunghoon!"

Peace of mind reaches out to him in the form of anxious footsteps.

From around the wall, you appear. Worry taints your features. It's a blow to the stomach for him. "I- I was waiting for you outside but I heard a noise-"

In two urgent strides, Park Sunghoon's lips are on yours.

Time pauses. Uncertainty hangs in the air. Sunghoon is racing at a million miles an hour.

When he feels you kissing back, he crashes.

Anger and guilt are a dangerous pairing. They join forces and leave desperation in their wake.

Sunghoon kisses you harder. He wants you to fill in all of the parts that feel empty. He wants you to help him feel whole.

You're pliant under his fingers, back slightly arching whenever he squeezes your waist. Sunghoon revels in the gasp that leaves your mouth when his hands slide under your shirt and paint landscapes on the expanse of your back. It's music to his ears. He records it in his mind before drowning it out with another searing kiss.

When you part to catch your breath, your forehead instantly presses to his. Chasing his touch, craving more of his skin against yours.

You look up at Sunghoon. His eyes are downcast to the floor. He feels your hand travel up to his hair, gently pulling on it. A silent plead.

He doesn't meet your gaze. He's floating. Adrift at a lawless sea. His palms continue to rub up and down your sides.

Sunghoon doesn't know how long the two of you spend in each other's arms. He doesn't want to know. Knowing would define a beginning and an end.

Sunghoon never wants this to end.

Seven days.

It's been seven days since Park Sunghoon last spoke to you.

With the way he walks past you without a mere glance, you wonder if what happened was even real.

But, you can still feel it. You can still feel him.

He had kissed you in that locker room. He had stolen the air from your lungs and never returned it. His scorching hands had burned themselves into your skin.

You pass him in the hall wordlessly. That's how it's always been, except there's no more eye contact that asks silent questions of 'How are you?" and speaks delicate words of "I'm happy to see you today."

Every one of your waking hours is spent wondering what went wrong.

You begin to neglect assignments and reject invitations to go out. Teachers eye you with concern. Friends ask if you've been feeling off. Everyone spares you a glance and a hushed whisper, except Sunghoon.

A frustrated hand cards through your hair.

Do you consume his mind as much as he consumes yours?

The hateful part of you prays it does. Prays that he's getting a taste of his own, cruel medicine.

When you lie in bed, you peer out of your window. The moon glows as brightly as ever. Oblivious to your broken resolve.

To you, Park Sunghoon had always been like the moon. Beautiful, and so, so far away.

Except, for once, he didn't.

He didn't feel so far away when his lips were on yours, hands roaming your bare back, rough fingertips grazing your sides. When your breathing had mixed into one exchange. He'd felt so, so close.

If only you knew he was going to be out of reach again so quickly.

For someone who's ranked 230th out of 239 students, Jake Sim is exceptionally sharp.

With a gentle tug aside to an empty classroom, he asks you the question you've lost nights worth of sleep over in a single, easy breath.

"What's going on between you and Sunghoon?"

You shift uncomfortably in your spot. The straps of your bag were suddenly too tight, suffocating you.

You take your time loosening them. Jake only watches you silently.

You're exploiting his patience. Trying to dodge the inevitable. But, what can you do? Confrontation frightens you to no end.

You choose the easy way out: you tell a bad lie.

"Nothing's going on between Sunghoon and I. What business could I possibly have with Park Sunghoon, of all people?"

Jake subtly rolls his eyes. He can tell that you don't even believe your own words.

"I might've believed you if I hadn't seen the way you look at him in the hall, Y/N. I can tell Sunghoon's been off, too. He's all tensed up."

For a second, you rejoice. You haven't been the only one losing yourself to blurred lines and longing.

When that second is over, emptiness settles back into you. "I see."

"I didn't know the two of you knew each other," Jake muses innocently.

It takes all of your strength to turn away from him and grasp the door handle.

"We don't."

Desperation doesn't overpower fear. Fear is still there as you march up to Park Sunghoon's table in the cafeteria.

You just simply cannot take it anymore.

Jake notices you before Sunghoon does. He isn't any closer to discovering what had happened between the two of you. Your entire relation leaves him at a loss.

But, he can tell by the way the smile you flash him in greeting doesn't reach your eyes. The way your gaze immediately falls back onto Sunghoon with melancholy.

You're tired.

Lightly, he kicks Sunghoon in the shin. Jake ignores the glare he receives, only nodding his head towards you. He's praying he's done you a favour.

For the first time in weeks, Park Sunghoon looks you in the eye.

His silence stifles the rest of the table. Their attention weighs heavy on your shoulders.

Fear looms much closer and higher than before. Fear is about to pinch your nose until you pass out cold.

"Sunghoon."

His name is already bitter on your tongue. Is it from all the times you've cursed it in your head?

He stares at you before redirecting his gaze to his food. Like you're some sort of eyesore.

Fear drops to the ground, dead.

"Park Sunghoon, what is your problem?"

Whispers surround you. Chills travel the length of your spine.

You think back to your brief conversation with Jake. How you had said there was nothing happening between you and Sunghoon, and how evident it now is that all of that was bullshit.

But now, you couldn't care if the whole universe is privy to you and Sunghoon's relationship.

All you want is to know is what realization he had. In this moment, you're desperate to realize it too.

"When will you cut the shit?"

Silence. A fork scraps against a plate.

"You know, Sunghoon. I've thought many things of you. How could I not? The school's star athlete who has everyone at his feet."

A dry laugh, a nervous glance to the side.

"You had me, too."

Sunghoon's knuckles turn white from how harshly he grips his fork.

"Never did I think of you to be a coward."

The sound of your steps bounce off the walls. Every pair of eyes in the room trails behind you, this time, including Sunghoon's.

His brain is a broken record machine. Replaying your words again, again, and again.

What is Park Sunghoon so... afraid of?

What is he so defenseless against that it's worth seeing the lights in your eyes die?

Sunghoon doesn't know what compels him to ignore you. To walk past you each day, as if you didn't convince him that happiness doesn't exist anywhere except for in your arms.

Perhaps, it's that you are a whirlwind of unfamiliarity. An onslaught of foreign emotions. You make him unsure of what to do with himself. Perhaps he finds it easier to avoid that than to approach it.

He's been so adept at pushing it away, that he doesn't realize you're slipping through his fingers until his head is an echo chamber of your words.

He had you.

"Sunghoon..." A voice cuts through the fog. Sunghoon isn't sure which of his friends it belongs to. From the intonation, he assumes that it's Jake.

"Whatever this is, you've got to fix it."

Sunghoon has listened to your voicemail play six times. He's been trying for an answer, yet he doesn't mind dialling for a seventh.

You sound happy in your voicemail. He never wants to forget what you sound like happy.

"H-Hello?"

Sunghoon's been lingering at the summit of a cliff. Carefully composing himself to avoid slipping off the edge.

When he hears how utterly broken your voice is, suddenly, he's plummeting.

"Sunghoon?"

Falling, falling, falling—

A sniffle, followed by an impatient sigh. "Sunghoon, if you're just going to waste my time-"

"I'm outside."

Sunghoon closes his eyes. He sees the ridges and lines of your front door. He thinks they're permanently printed into his eyelids from how long he's been standing on your doorstep.

Don't hang up. Don't hang up.

"What?"

Sunghoon opens his eyes.

"I'm outside your door."

In his peripheral, the curtains of a window crack open. His heartbeat reaches his ears. You don't question him any further, but he hears distant footsteps from your end of the line.

The front door opens, then stops. Ajar. Hesitating.

Sunghoon knows you're on the other side. He prays you don't retract your movements.

You don't. You push through.

When you appear in the doorway, his breath dies in his throat.

Slightly bloodshot eyes. Strands of hair astray, haphazardly held together with a claw clip. A large sweatshirt swallowing your frame.

Sunghoon doesn't think he's ever seen anyone as beautiful as you.

He should've spoken by now. He'd planned on speaking by now, yet all he can do is look at you. Eyes trailing over every delicate curve. The slope of your nose, the moles on your hands.

When he hears the small sigh leave your lips, he knows you're slipping away.

His brain goes into overdrive. He needs to act fast.

Frantically, he clears his throat.

"Come watch the sunset with me."

A breeze blows by. The neighbour's wind chimes knock together, playing a soft jingle.

"Please."

The only words you speak to Sunghoon on the bus are to ask where you're going.

He tucks his bottom lip between his teeth, remaining silent.

You close your eyes. Surrendering. You're so sick of his silence.

You shouldn't have come. You're stupid to have believed otherwise—

"Don't."

Eyes snap open.

You turn to look at Sunghoon. You find that he's already looking at you.

"Don't- don't regret this," he pleads. Desperation pours from his voice. You would've scoffed if he wasn't wearing the rawest expression you've lived to see.

Park Sunghoon leaves you in despair.

No matter which lens you look at him through, he has no solution. He's wrung you dry of hope, yet you don't find yourself objecting when he brings your head onto his shoulder. His hastiness screams craving for proximity. Craving for reassurance.

Deep down, you know you're just the same.

You let Sleep take you.

It's the soundest you've slept in weeks.

You've seen the sunset thousands of times in your life.

From every place you've ever been. School grounds. Your bedroom. The drive home. Through the eyes of others.

And yet, none of those thousands of times hold a candle to the sight from the pier.

"It's beautiful," you breathe out.

A small hum in agreement. You smile weakly.

You know he isn't looking at the sunset, but you don't face him just yet.

"Sunghoon?"

He steps closer.

"What happened?"

You can feel him stiffen. Your eyes never tear from the vermillion sky. You're not sure if you're paralyzed by beauty, or by fear.

A head drops onto your shoulder. Its weight is comforting. Slowly, he readjusts himself to stand in front of you. Face pressing into your neck. Hands wrapping around your waist, holding on like you'd disappear if he let go.

His body shakes with each breath. It takes every bit of your resolve to not wrap your arms around him.

You let Park Sunghoon cry on your shoulder.

You don't think you'd ever deny him of it.

The sun doesn't budge from where it sits in the sky. It seems to be waiting for the two of you.

When Sunghoon peels his face away from you, you finally look at him. You can feel your heart fall apart in your chest.

Park Sunghoon is more beautiful than any sunset you'll ever see.

A careful hand reaches up. It barely rests against his jaw. You nearly chuckle at how he instantly leans into your touch.

He's staring at you through half-lidded eyes. Slightly parted lips. A gaze filled with longing, remorse, and a million unspoken words.

He leans in, nose brushing against yours. Before he can mouth the words he wants to say, you meet him half way.

The kiss is slow. Delicate. Fragile. Sunghoon is too scared to treat you as anything less.

It lacks the hunger of the one before. Your body is pulled flush against his. He's trying to convey thousands of apologies all at once. Hoping his sincerity can penetrate your skin, travel through your veins, and reach your soul. The way he's kissing you is heart-wrenching.

"I-" he gasps when you part. "Please. Please forgive me."

"Come back to me," you croak. "Why did you shut me out?"

He presses kisses to your jaw, then to your cheek. His hands slide up to your cup your face.

"Because I love you."

You close your eyes. Soaking in each sacred word that falls from his lips. Shuddering.

You feel like crying.

"I love you so much that I don't know what to do with myself. With you, nothing feels real. Time stops ticking. Everyone else fades into oblivion, and I feel like I'm on top of the fucking world," he whispers, voice wet and rushed.

Your forehead connects with his. A gentle rhythm is tapped onto his nape with the intention of calming him down.

"I've never felt like this before. I- I just-"

Sunghoon's face twists. He's fighting against his emotions.

You watch as he deflates.

"Please... find it in your heart to forgive me."

A small smile graces your face.

Under the glow of the setting sun, everything is okay.

"Stop staring at me like that."

Sunghoon peers up at you from your lap. His face glows golden.

A mischievous smile appears on his face. It infects you like a virus.

"Is it illegal for me to admire my girlfriend?"

"Yes." You shoot him with a finger gun. "Hands up."

Soft laughter fills your ears. You let Sunghoon pull you down into a gentle, loving kiss.

You'd let him do it for all of eternity.

To you, Park Sunghoon is like the moon. Beautiful, and so, so far away.

Now, you think Park Sunghoon is more like the setting sun.

Beautiful, and just on the way home.

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overleftdown · 10 months ago

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farleigh start and racism; oh boy.

(some people are going to find this post really annoying. some people are like felix catton.)

read this.

just some thoughts from the perspective of a person of color who is slightly too obsessed with this character. this movie leaves the viewer a lot of wiggle room to interpret how dynamics such as race and privilege come into play. there are certain parallels between this movie and the real world, and how unnoticeable white privilege tends to be for white people.

lemme lay some groundwork. from what i understand, the most prevalent form of racism and white privilege within upper- and middle-class circles is implicit bias. this is racist conceptualization that subconsciously interacts with one's perception of society and people. implicit bias is often externalized through microaggressions, differences in treatment and language towards a marginalized person, misplaced guilt or pity, and persistent denial of any existing privilege or marginalization. most of these biases are also founded on stereotypes. some racial stereotypes are heightening (e.g. asians are all smart) and some are lowering (e.g. black people are all lazy). all stereotypes are harmful. i'm going to discuss some of the stereotypes that could theoretically interact within the saltburn canon, as well as some things i've noticed within viewers. can of worms, to be honest. boutta get INTO IT.

to use one of my externalization examples, let's discuss (or, more accurately, let me discuss) the denial of existing privilege or marginalization. this is a subconscious way to uphold a sense of morality, effectively avoiding "white guilt," so to speak. as is clearly presented to us, the cattons are very attached to their methods of upholding their own self-righteousness. saviorism is a common theme within both elspeth and felix. in oliver's conversation with elspeth about poor dear pamela, you can see that oliver recognizes elspeth's need to justify her actions in an attempt to preserve her sense of decency. one can only assume that this applies to how they view farleigh's relationship with them. there's more to talk about there, but i'd like to start with the only overt mention of race in this movie.

in felix's confrontation with farleigh, farleigh makes the bold and brave decision to mention his blackness. i call this brave because it's genuinely a terrifying thing to do, and the end of this conversation is proof. "oh, that is... that is low, farleigh. seriously, that's where you want to take this? make it a race thing? i never know our footman's names; the turnover for a footman is notoriously high!" we have felix's intentional or unintentional shaming of farleigh. we have felix's appalled denial of any involvement of race or racial bias. we have felix's diversion away from farleigh specifically and onto his own inability to know his staff's names. felix made no further attempt to recenter farleigh, aside from telling him that the cattons have "done what they can." (which is SO absurd on its own. they are clearly and obviously able to do more. they are disgustingly rich). farleigh does feel ashamed after felix's response; you can see it on his face, and archie says it directly. here is a relevant and prevalent stereotype for all marginalized people: that the discussion of marginalization is exclusively weaponized to gain something or manipulate a situation. this is how felix chooses to see farleigh's implication of existing white privilege. this conversation results in nothing, does nothing, as felix chooses not to confront what he's probably thinking as he repeats the words "begging bowl" to venetia.

now. saviorism, guilt, and pity. felix specifically tells oliver that sir james made an effort to support farleigh out of guilt. i'd like to order some things in a way that i perceive them. frederica start runs from england, which is explained in a condescending way by felix. frederica start marries a so-referred-to "lunatic" who dug through fred and jame's money, although it's farleigh who only mentions fred's financial irresponsibility. out of guilt, james offers to pay for farleigh's education. the specificity of education is compelling to me. perhaps james is simply a patriotic man who strongly believes that english education is better. or this is a mobilized racial stereotype! who can truly know. i digress. james' offer to pay for farleigh's foreign education puts the cattons in an odd position; if farleigh is to attend english schools, he will need to stay with the cattons. if farleigh is staying with the cattons, he will need to be treated as equal to felix and venetia. this is all one long chain of obligations. none of these acts from one family member to another should be considered "charitable," because family should intrinsically create a trustworthy and supportive dynamic.

i believe that the cattons do consider their fostering of farleigh as obligatory. moral obligation, as they recognize that families are intended to have a sympathetic and loving relationship. they cannot, however, escape the truth that they're just guilty. the "begging bowl" and "biting the hand" are more symbolic of a starving dog and its charitable adopter than a cousin/nephew who's staying with his absurdly rich family. see, the cattons are fully and entirely capable of affording another child, of supporting frederica financially, etc. the only way i can rationalize their reluctance to do so is by assuming that they don't feel like farleigh deserves it. is this a crazy assumption? i genuinely don't see why else. of course, i don't think this mentality is explicit or conscious. it's more-so the reality that when farleigh walks in a room, he's not the same as anybody else. aside from background characters at oxbridge, the only on-screen black people are liam, joshua, and james' godson's wife (who gets degraded on-screen). this is the reality of being different in an environment such as the english aristocracy. the cattons choose to see themselves as the hand that feeds the less fortunate, more entertaining, and least inconvenient. the cattons' inclusion of farleigh is not only reliant on how well farleigh performs, but also on their own pity and guilt.

all of this is somehow, painfully mirrored by some takes i've seen on farleigh. maybe this entire post is presumptuous, but you know what isn't presumptuous? saying that certain people hold farleigh to an incredibly odd standard. while the cattons never canonically said anything along the lines of "farleigh doesn't deserve our love and support," mfs on the internet have. the number of times people have referred to this character as greedy, lazy, petty, and malignant is so odd to me. i'm insane, i know. i just don't understand how people can hold farleigh to the backdrop of an english aristocratic family and so passionately say that he, of all characters, is the most detestable. or that he, of all characters, has no reason to behave in the way he does.

is farleigh greedy? greed is defined as a desire for more. farleigh has no desire to climb ranks, no desire to replace or surpass felix, no desire to hold any power over any family member. he is maintaining, upholding a standard that has been set for him throughout his life. is it kind or selfless of him to meddle in other people's affairs with the cattons? no. does he have a reason to be upset that non-relatives of the cattons are a threat to his inclusion in the first place? yes. is farleigh lazy? i don't even need to explain this one. no. if you don't consider oliver lazy, then i really don't want to hear anything. is farleigh petty? pettiness is defined as "an undue concern for trivial matters, especially in a small-minded or spiteful way." farleigh's meticulous attention to trivial matters isn't undue in any sense. a person of color and their meticulous attention to trivial matters is almost never undue. elspeth is a good example of petty. is farleigh malignant? there are a lot of definitions of malignant and i've seen people apply all of them, in some way, to farleigh. that's just wrong. archie madekwe once said, "i was interested in humanizing what, on paper, seemed like a mean character, a villain, or a bully. i don't think he's any of that. he's very self-serving, but i think he's really a heartbreaking character." case closed, this was for my own piece of mind. had to write this section because good lord.

in conclusion to this post that has gone tragically off the rails, i think the in-canon and viewer perspective of farleigh is, perhaps, a little racially motivated. sue me. they are all very centered on this idea that farleigh doesn't deserve inherent respect, support, and love. to remove farleigh's rational position within the cattons family would be akin to removing his right to familial love. genuinely, that's how i see it. the transaction nature of farleigh's actions is responsive. he sees felix as a social shield at oxbridge, he sees elspeth and james as the beholders of his perceived security, and he sees saltburn as a way to escape from his lack of privilege and his lack of stability in america. boom. bam. pow.

#farleigh start #saltburn #saltburn 2023 #i love making it a race thing #took multiethnic lit and racial sociology this quarter #critical race theory is my weapon of choice at any given moment #“erm actually”#the “i love making it a race thing” is a jest #white people b making it a race thing without even knowing it #like hello ur the one who fucking started it #womp womp on GOD on griddy #i tried to explain to someone that i related to farleigh because i'm also half white and my white family is painful to exist around #and this mf said “erm u actually relate to him cuz ur a horrible person and so is he”#hello what #i'm not doing what farleigh is doing like obv i don't live in a fucking castle #but the girls that get it get it #i'm incapable of shutting up #ever #actually #yabbering on at 1am #talking to the voices in my head #the voices r saying “farleigh start u will always be famous”

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