𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐀 [ TRANSLATION ]

𝐈 _ 𝐍𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐃

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— yah, choi yeonjun! Wake up, or you'll be late today too!

A voice known to him and the sound of the alarm clock coming from his cell phone, forced him to get out of bed. He walked, yawning with fatigue, through the room, while a hand was intent on scratching his side; until, when he arrived in front of the mirror, he looked at himself, rolling his eyes in surprise. He fell to the ground in fear, noticing only at that moment, turning his neck in laying his gaze everywhere, that this was his high school room and that, thanks to his entrance, the voice that had called him before, did not belong to anyone but his mother. Rejuvenated, without the need for dyes or treatments yet. In disbelief, he got up from the ground to reach her, circling around her as if it were a statue inside a museum. The woman looked at him, not understanding what he was doing. Then, impatient, she pushed him to turn the step towards the bathroom so that he could wash and dress for the day. Arriving in front of the mirror placed above the sink, again, he could not believe the reflected image; in short, it was always him, very handsome, but- younger, apparently. Maybe I'm in a coma? Or a dream?, he thought, while brushing his teeth, he looked at his face in the mirror. When he came out - wearing part of his own uniform that his mother left outside the door - a perfume intoxicated his nostrils, forcing him to turn his step towards the kitchen; then going down the stairs and crossing the living room of his childhood home. However, this dream is finished in detail, he thought, sitting at the table and noticing several dishes that the woman used to prepare for him in the morning, despite being always running and late, she could hardly ever eat.

— jun-ie, at least don't get called back today, mh? — the tone of voice she used when she saw him at the table, was far quieter than just before, but knowing her, she knew well that she didn't have to waste too much time eating. Make me call back? I wasn't a thug, he thought, giggling to himself. After the meal, he got up, perceiving from his pants pocket the slight vibration of his cell phone. A message, from a certain "Choi", which in a matter of seconds took a back seat to his interest. His eyes, in fact, focused in a particular way on reading the date marked on the display: twelve March two thousand-fourteen; date of the beginning of the lessons of that semester. He remembered it well, all too much, as just during his second year of high school, Choi Soobin became part of his life, or rather, a series of events led them to meet.

However, following his mother's complaints, he left the house, with his backpack on his shoulder. Amazed, he looked around, as if amazed by that landscape that he used to look at every day of his youth. From the buildings, to the same sidewalk he used to follow to reach the bus stop that would take him to school. During that journey, he noticed some faces known among the people who passed by him, wondering how it was possible to remember in a dream even the faces of young men and women, seen yes and no sometimes. In the calm of his walk, he did not hear anyone calling him from afar; just as he did not notice that he had been reached and hunched by someone who, amicably, put an arm around his shoulders. Turning around, surprised, he rolled his eyes when he met the face of the one who at the time had been his best friend since kindergarten: Choi Beomgyu who jokingly called "choi moped" by means of his endless little talk. When he let him go, he took the time to look at him, before leaning towards him and hugging him tightly to himself; their contacts had been weakening for years, a little because of their commitments and a little because of their careers. After college, he had found work in the field of journalism and occasionally read his articles that concerned him with pleasure.

— is it to be forgiven for not introducing yourself yesterday, or for not responding to the message this morning, fake? Detach that makes me all this affection strange — the boy chuckled, before looking at him and adding — I bet you trained until tard- wait, where's the guitar?

At that question, he looked at him confused, only remembering when they were on the bus that, every day after classes and during breaks, he used to play in the yard, or just anywhere he happened. He was even a member of the music club, he remembered. Arriving in front of the entrance gate of the school, he widened his mouth to the dismay of seeing that building from which he used to run away as soon as the last bell rang. He chuckled to himself, starting to look around. He should be there too, shouldn't he? He thought, looking with his gaze for a head of black hair and a tall, slender physique, but nothing. Wow, I can't see you in my dreams anymore, now? He sighed, following the boy next to him to their classroom. He had to admit that, seeing the faces of his old classmates particularly touched him. Of many of them, in fact, he didn't even remember the name anymore, but he unconsciously praised himself to remember their somatic traits perfectly. He reached his desk - in the last row, right next to the window -, he sat there, waiting for the lesson that his unconscious was offering and looking out, towards the football field, where some boys were intent on training. One of all, he welcomed his interest, not only for the skill with which he played, but for the number he wore on the back of his shirt: the number thirteen. Choi Soobin.. CHOI SOOBIN, he thought, getting up abruptly from the chair he was in, scaring half of his classmates and the professor who had arrived in the meantime. Looking fixed, outside, he did not listen to what the man had to say to him, subsequently running away from the classroom under the stunned eyes of everyone present.

— the thirteenth is my birthday, coincidences, choi?
— and stop it, now I'll change it.

As he traveled the journey that divided them, one of the many memories that retracted them together resurfaced in his mind; the day he found himself waiting for him while he finished his workouts. They had known each other for months and to the surprise of seeing that number printed on his shirt, he made fun of him, knowing his reactions. In fact, embarrassed, the raven took off his shirt, throwing it at him shortly after. The same one that at that moment a certain tall guy, dark-haired and a little damp, was wearing the moment he scored a goal for his team. When he turned to him, he felt his eyes shining; he was in front of him, a few meters away from his position and didn't think twice, before starting to walk towards him. Some of those present looked at him in aston, others told him to get out of the field, while he, from a distance, seemed to be yelling at him something he couldn't understand.

— yah, be careful!

Before he could even avoid it, a soccer ball ended up straight in his face, leaving a trickle of blood dripping from his nose and down towards his upper lip. He fell to the ground on the lawn of the football field, stunned by that collision. The sun, hit his face, forcing him to shut down his eyelids from discomfort, as he carried a hand to his nostrils to close them. Of the eyes known to him, they peeped among those of others and one hand picked up a free one of his to make him rise. He looked at the boy in front of him, this time, with both eyelids wide open and his heart lost a beat. He was there, wearing his uniform and a somewhat annoyed expression - for the probable interruption of training - Choi Soobin looked at him perplexed. Perhaps because of the blood still dripping from his nose, or because of the eyes that soon began to cry, or maybe, again, because in an impetus of joy, he tied his arms around his neck, hugging him in such a way that he made both fall to the ground.

— I'm sorry I wasn't next to you and I didn't realize the pain you were feeling. I wish I had listened to you, I wish I had the courage to expose myself for you, but I was a coward. I miss you, I miss you so much — he raised his head, looking at his face with still a confused expression — I will always love you, choi soobin. — he said, hoping with all his heart not to wake up at that moment, because reaching out towards him, he joined their mouths into a kiss anything but sweet by means of the metallic taste of the blood he had on his lips. The latter, ended up irretrievably on the mouth of the boy below him who, for contact, putting pressure on his chest, pushed him away, landing him by weight on the ground in front of him. Aish, he thought, perceiving a certain pain in his butt for the umpteenth fall. Wait a minute, pain? Now that I think about it, my nose has been hurting for a while, but it's not possible, he thought, looking up at the people around him, before laying it on the boy in front of him. His face was red with embarrassment, or rather, from anger.

— are you damn crazy?!

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