𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐀 [ TRANSLATION ]

𝐈𝐈𝐈 _ 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆

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Back in a hurry home after his failure, the moment his feet set foot there, he threw his backpack to the ground, freeing all the frustration he had in his body with a scream that scared, not a little, his father who, sitting on the couch intent on reading, just before his arrival, jumped on the spot, turning to look at him bewildered. Soon, to complete that triangle came his mother who, visibly shaken, looked at him, as if asking him what was not right. She doesn't answer, taking leave of both of them once they are given the excuse of post-school day fatigue. At dinner, he still couldn't quite believe the vision he had in front of him: his parents sitting at the table with him, intent on eating as they used to, all together, during his youth. He almost wanted to slap himself, but to avoid being asked questions, he finished his meal in silence and went to his room. I'm going crazy, I have to be crazy even for believing this, he thought, absolutely unable to conceive of the fact that whatever was in that place, at that moment, was real. Once lying on the bed, he began to look at the ceiling, gritting his teeth and rocking his feet frustrated. When I was in the hospital, the doctor commented on my dreams by saying various things.. AH!, he thought, standing up with a jump and carrying himself in front of the mirror, turning around several times, but without noticing anything different or out of the ordinary.

He then decided to opt for another of the methods that he remembered served to distinguish a dream from the real, subsequently plugging his nose and mouth with both hands; after a few minutes, he found himself running out to the balcony of his room to gasp gasping in search of air as his lungs almost gave way. Just because I couldn't breathe anyway doesn't mean anything, right? AISH, what else is left?, he thought, looking down at his own hands and, again, not noticing anything strange; they had not mutated or with a few fingers out of place, moreover, when he had tried to cross one with the other, he had failed miserably. He snorted, carrying his back against the parapet and staring at the front door of the room an idea flashed in his head. I have to try, at least, he thought, stretching his body and then starting to run against that solid surface only to slam us, inexorably, against us. He snorted, irritated, as the door was opened by his mother who, worried, had decided to bring him a glass of chamomile in her room for the night.

— junie, are you feeling good, dear?

He nodded to her with the head of 'no' to make her understand that everything was fine, smiling at her and taking the glass with that steaming liquid from her hands and then put it back on the bedside table next to the bed. When he was alone, he felt a new desire to scream. Then, like a bolt from the blue, the memory of that day appeared to his mind, leaving him speechless. He had kissed someone who, he remembered, at that time he didn't even know him, yet. He had behaved like a madman in front of him and, as if that wasn't enough, that same night he had left him alone, in that park, shortly after he literally landed in his arms. Choi Yeonjun, you damn bastard, he thought, ragging his hair, irritated by his own actions. Only after he raised himself on his bed did a thought create in his head, leaving him to reflect between himself: why did I go back? In short, assuming and granted that it is true, because I .. and why precisely in the year in which we met?. Those unknowns accompanied him for most of the night, letting him close his eye for the awakening the next day. The alarm went off and his eyelids barely opeded. He looked from his cell phone at the date, thirteen March two thousand-fourteen and his heart lost a beat. That was the date that for years he had marked among the most important in all his diaries because, that day, he would meet Choi Soobin; only that their meeting, unlike the first, had not only already taken place, but also in the worst possible way.