It Ends with Us • Kim Mingyu

[fourteen]

Blank.

The entire living room is blank. Not a trace of a guy, or even the sensation that he might've been here. Everything is intact in its place as it was in the morning. Scattered pajamas, empty juice cans under the coffee table, the television turned on muted: kbs news showcasing a heated argument between two politicians. One of them is bald and wears a suit, another one is wearing a beret with button down and vest. Across them, Jeonghan sits on the couch, scrolling his phone, eyes glued to the screen.

"Took too long enough." Jeonghan says as I sit on the bean bag chair next to the pile of manga and comic books. The windows behind me are wide open, baby blue voile curtains drove to one end. Breezes of the evening course inside, softly brushing against my face and hair. A bit dusty and flat, but the air feels good after standing in the dark hallway for so long.

"Where's my guy?" I ask. "Has he gone to the bathroom or something? I don't see him."

"He went home. Said there's an emergency and you're taking way too long." Jeonghan says, without looking. His pitch is incredibly dull, suggesting it's a bore seeing me, or from what I gather, he's sour that I kept him waiting with a total stranger. Either way, I'm put in a tight spot.

"If you made it four hours earlier, you could've had him. He's gone for good."

"It's not been that long." I mutter underneath my breath. I can't decide if it's good that he's left. Part of me is relieved, another part of me feels dejected. I was anticipating a great showdown: fighting off evil with Dino's wok, the mystery behind the writings in the ICU diary being unraveled. What on earth did he have to pay me a visit every Monday without so much running across any of my acquaintances? How did the staffs allow him inside? I really wanted to know.

"You've been here sitting this whole time by yourself?" I ask Jeonghan, to which in return he nods lifelessly. I take my time before asking my second question. It's a great deal of work managing silence between siblings, especially one so directed. I've had Jeonghan mad with me only once and it got resolved because he was leaving for his tour. We never actually talked about it, so I have no idea how to win him over. 

"Did you manage to get a name? An address, maybe?"

"Didn't think he could have one." Jeonghan shrugs.

Jeonghan brings his feet closer to him on the couch, folding his legs so his chin rests on his knees. His fingers slowly scroll down his phone, eyes focused as though he's reading something vital. I notice for the first time in a month, Jeonghan is wearing normal clothes. Plaid shirt and khaki bottoms, matching brown socks. There are no wrinkles on the clothes. His hair is neatly brushed, curtain bangs parted in the middle.

From an angle, he looks better than he did this morning. Although I've no clue what going on inside his mind, I can tell the impact has slackened to some degree. Maybe I can talk to him if I want. 

"Have you had dinner?" I ask.

Jeonghan shakes his head. There's no motion of uttering any further word, so I go ahead and propose my idea. "Let's go out for dinner. My treat. We'll figure out some stuff." I say. I'm proud how daringly I suggested that, but the moment Jeonghan looks up from his phone, my heart sprints a mile in a minute.

"Why do you have a frypan with you?" Jeonghan asks.

I look down at my lap, Dino's wok resting there like a well-bred domestic cat. "I had this with me just in case, if that guy tried something," I say. "You never know the deal with strangers these days. Mrs. Dewberry had one of such interactions. On the evening of July fourth, someone rang her doorbell. When she opened the door, there was a guy with bruises on his face senseless on the ground. Naturally, she freaked out and called her husband. They got him inside and laid him on the couch. Her husband went to fetch first aid kit and she went to fetch water. When they came back, the guy was nowhere to be found. They went back to their room, and everything was tampered there. The cupboards had been wide open, almirahs, shelves, and everything. Although it had been not more than three minutes, they were certain the guy downstairs had done it. They thought they had been deceived into robbery. But strangely, nothing was stolen. Cash, tech, gold ornaments, watch – everything was intact. The only things missing were a pair of socks and one of Mr. Dewberry's old sunglasses."