The Halves Of Maria

Chapter Three: Breathless

The paper thin walls of our minuscule karaoke room do a terrible job of blocking the sound from neighboring singers, and the knowledge that every mistake I make is clearly audible to anyone listening makes me cringe.

When I mention it to Yohan he laughs, agreeing with me in solidarity, although he truly has nothing to worry about there, his voice is AMAZING. Perfection to the point where singing karaoke with him is simultaneously the best and worst experience possible.

We mostly belt out cheesy old hits, lots of ridiculous 80s chart toppers that push away my confusion and doubts with a vengeance. Sometimes when I'm resting my lungs Yohan will perform a stunning Korean pop song.

When, after what felt like an endless eternity of everything from Can't Hold Back to The Final Countdown, I'm sweating and out of breath, Yohan asks me to pick a song for him. I don't know much Korean music, but there is one song I've listened to countless times, reading and rereading the translated lyrics on Google.

"Oh! Sumgappeun, by Ilsyth!" I grin, carefully typing the Hangul spelling into the karaoke machine. Sumgappeun translates to "breathless" in English. The bittersweet melody has been blared through my headphones during way to many emotional crises.

I turn away from the machine as the soft, electro-pop infused opening begins to play.

Yohan has an unreadable expression, his eyes staring at the screen in a way that makes me wonder if he's even seeing it at all.

"Hey... you okay?"

His eyes snap away from the screen to lock with mine and he gives a small smile. It seems a little forced and shaken around the edges but in the dim lighting of the room I can't tell for sure.

"I'm fine, lol, just tired, I think. Long day."

The music swells as the main melody takes center stage, and Yohan has to hurry to avoid missing the first few words.

My Korean is, in all honesty, pretty terrible, even with countless attempts to learn it on Duolingo and the odd words I've picked up from Yohan, and so it's the English translations I remember when I think of the lyrics, as disjointed and clunky as they are.

"I never cry, only ever gasp for air, I know you wouldn't see the tears, no no you never notice how you make me so breathless, breathless..."

Yohan's voice curves alongside the music, each note a perfect, crystal clear ode to invisible pain.

This song was the artist's debut, and farewell. The only one the emerging star ever released.

"... steal my air, you silence my voice, you are blind to every facet of my being... and yet... and yet..."

At first I think it's a trick of the flashing lights, but when I look closer I see it clearly. Yohan is crying. Softly, silently, as his beautiful, heartbroken voice dances to the beat of the song.

"Breathless, you make me breathless, helpless, silent, desperate, groundless. Breathless, always breathless, screaming your name I'm breathless, breathless, breathless..."

The last shimmering notes fade into silence.

Yohan doesn't turn to look at me in the stillness that has settled about us. The air is full of a million things I'm dying to say but I've been rendered as speechless as the song's narrator.

"A-are you okay?" I finally stammer, uncertain if I should speak or not.

Yohan turns back to me with a smile that seems, somehow, undefinably sad to me.

"I'm fine. Sheesh, Maria. That's the second time you asked this tonight" his laugh was short and forced, but with a shadow of his usual self behind it, "it's not like I'm on my deathbed here."

I smile shakily, wishing I could believe him and move on. But I can't, not with the memory of his glistening tears embedded behind my eyes.

Sometimes it feels as though there are still more things I don't know about my dearest friend than things I do.

I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket, snapping me away from my dazed thoughts.

Oh. Oh crap.

It's three thirty, and my last warning alarm is going off like crazy. I have a series of them set to keep me on track when I'm out with Yohan, to ensure I don't risk getting home too late. I must have missed them in the noise and confusion of the last few hours.

"I have to get home" I cry, rushing to gather a few scattered things from the seat beside me.

Crap crap crap crap craaaaap.

My father always leaves for the gym at five o clock, sharp, and has been up and preparing for at least half an hour, or longer, before then. If I'm not solidly in bed by then...

I swipe my card furiously through the machine to settle our tab, tossing a few bills on the seats for whoever is going to have to clean up my horrible nest of snack-crumbs.

Yohan takes my hand and we rush through the narrow, twisting hallways of the building, to a one-way side door that lets off into the parking lot.

We're out the door in an instant, letting it swing shut behind us with a soft clunk.

"About time you came out, we were just about on the verge of goin in to look fer you ourselves."

My body goes rigid at the sound of a gruff voice in the darkness, and I can feel Yohan tightening his grip on my hands, to the point where it would have been painful, if he wasn't my sole comfort.

From the shadows behind the building, a figure moves. More follow it forward, until the light of the street lamps finally draws them into focus. Five men, cruelty written in their eyes.

"Yohan So Bong," the man who had spoken first says, coming closer until he's only a few yards away, and I can finally see him clearly. He's maybe a little under six feet tall, wearing the sort of rumpled suit you see evil landlords swaggering around in in trashy old movies, "pleasure 'ah finally see you face to face." He leers at us, twisting his expression into a nightmare smile that makes my blood run cold.

"What do you want?" Yohan asks, the tremble in his voice so slight it's barely perceptible.

"You."

"I— I don't understand."

"Much as I'd love ta give ya a long, detailed explanation, that isn't on tonight's timetables," the man says, so close now that the twisted symbol on his lapel is fully visible to me.

...but I barely have time to take it in before he lungs at us.