Traces and Storms

ii

It was already noon when I woke up. The house was empty. It always was. With Dad working abroad and Mom going around the country for seminars. They knew about Jongin, but I couldn't bring myself to tell them we broke up. It felt too much of a burden—a waste of time—to listen to me. Their problems were audiences and crunching numbers. What I carried was something petty. It wasn't worth telling.

I wasn't hungry, nor was I in the mood to cook a proper meal. I settled for a bowl of cereal, instead, and a piping hot cup of green tea. It felt strange, not feeling the ends of my hair touch the small of my back. Still, it was something I knew I wouldn't mind getting used to. For some reason, a part of me still waited for Jongin's good morning text. I waited for my phone to ring, only to display his name with a heart emoji to match.

Of course, it didn't happen. It had ceased to happen for two weeks now. Because Jongin was in love with someone else. And he had made that point clear. Still, questions flooded my mind. I wanted to ask him when it began. And why I didn't notice it. Was he hiding it? For how long? Or did Jongin say goodbye the moment he fell for that other person. It was painful, knowing the one you love could walk away, cradling what he used to feel for you, only to give it to someone else. It hurt, imagining the things he did to you, he would do to someone else.

-::-

"I'm not saying you're sulking too much, but you're sulking too much."

Someone blocked the sunshine, and that someone was a certain Kim Myungsoo, wearing a black shirt despite the scorching heat of the sun and a pair of blue board shorts. He finished his attire with flip-flops. He towered over me, hands shoved in his pockets. The balmy wind blew. He smelled like soap, the one which reminded me of fresh laundry, green meadows, and blue skies.

"I didn't notice you."

"You're too immersed in whatever you're doing, I suppose," he suggested.

"Well, yeah," I shrugged, and held up the paperback I was holding. The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger. "I was reading."

"It's upside down, though," he pointed out.

I bit my lower lip, causing him to laugh at my mishap in good humor. I wasn't offended by it, for some odd reason.

"What brings you here?" I asked.

"I heard you crying."

A pause. "I'm not, though."

"Then maybe it was your heart I heard crying."

"Were you always this smooth?" I shot back.

He smiled—a mischievous one, where one corner of his lips was higher than the other. "You think I'm smooth?"

"Or cheesy?" I carried on.

"So you think I'm smooth and cheesy?" he returned, causing me to scoff.

"Think as you wish," I said. "Whatever."

He tittered, and it sounded lighthearted. It was contagious. I began laughing along with him, and it felt nice.

"Any plans for today?" he began.

"Not that I know of," I replied. "It's just me, anyway."

"You can always drop by if it gets too quiet," Myungsoo offered. "It's not like you're a stranger to my parents."

"I don't want to intrude."

"They're asking about you, too," he said. "They're worried about you. They know you're almost always alone."

I cocked my head. "Really?"

"Why do you always look so unconvinced whenever I tell you things?"

"Because I can't see right through you," I blurted out. "And yet here I am telling you sides of me."

"So you see this as a transaction?" he asked. His tone of voice wasn't something I dreaded. He placed it on the table as a simple question. Something I could either take or leave. I decided to do the former.

"In a sense."

"Then you're wrong. That's all you need to know. You're wrong."

Silence fell on us.

"All I want is to get to know you, too," I said. "I don't want to be on the giving end all the time."

"Why?" he asked.

I shrugged.

Myungsoo sighed. "So, like I said, you're always welcome to drop by. My parents would love it. You can even do that tonight. Or now."

"Why are you so kind?" I blurted out.

"What's wrong with being kind?" he asked back in reply. "Is the world so harsh, that people would refuse to accept this gesture?"

"It's just..." but I trailed off, not knowing what to say anymore. I figured Myungsoo was enigmatic, and altruistic. He rarely spoke about himself, and if he ever did, he was equivocate about it. He was kind. Perhaps, to a fault.

"You've been in our place before, though," he began. "My parents invited all the kids over."

"I was ten," I reminded him. "I've never been in there since."

"You can start again," he said. "I mean, I'd love it if you come around."

"You're sly," I remarked.

"Hm?"

"And dangerous," I added. "You have a way with words."

"It all comes down to how you interpret it," he said. "Why? Is Jongin not as smooth and cheesy?"

I smiled. A rather pensive one. "He's usually quiet and shy. But whenever he draws something...his eyes come alive. Everything about him just does. It's difficult, not to fall for that kind of passion."

"Jongin the Architect: quiet, shy, passionate," Myungsoo counted the traits with his fingers on his right hand. He looked at me. "What else?"

"He has rough hands."

"And?"

"If I tell more, I'd only end up crying," I said.

"I see," he kicked a stray pebble to a side, and sat down beside me. He exhaled a mouthful of air. "I hope what had happened wouldn't harden your heart."

"It won't," I assured him. A pause, and I added, "Why? Did it happen to you?"

"Many times," he said. "It's always with the same person, though. She seems to have the talent for turning my heart into stone, only to soften it again. I'm captivated by her. It's not a healthy way of looking at things, but I am."

Before I could even stop myself, I asked, "Just what is she, to have that kind of effect on you?"

"A storm."