Traces and Storms

xiv

   Jongin helped me pack up, and when I was about to walk away, he suggested to drive me home, instead.

"I don't want to impose," I said.

"It's already late," he replied. "And I wouldn't be able to let it go, if something bad happened to you along the way."

We stared at each other in silence, wondering if it was okay to let my ex give me a lift home. Was it allowed? Would it be all right to have that kind of concern, knowing the past you shared with that person was intimate? I wouldn't know. Jongin was, after all, my first.

"Then," I cleared my throat, before giving a tiny nod. "I'll be in your care."

Jongin laughed at my last remark, and I looked at him, my stare blatantly asking for a reason behind his action.

"That's so formal of you, Suji," he said. "I'm sorry. I guess I'm still not used to it."

I ended up laughing at his remark, too, and just like that, he led me to the place where he parked his car.

"It's this," he said, pointing his key at a white, five-door Golf. He used to own a yellow Picanto, which we named Chacha, all because of a show we used to love as kids. That car was his first one, and I was there when they bought it. It may sound immature, naming cars and all, but that mattered to us.

"You switched."

"Yeah," Jongin sniffed. "Mom pushed me into getting a new one. Just last month."

From the tone of his voice, it was evident that he didn't like the idea. If anything, Jongin was more sentimental than me. I was able to burn the traces he kept, but knowing him, he meant it, when he told me he would keep the things I gave him well. I dispose of things to forget, while he holds on, in order to let go. Others may see it as stupid—irrational, even. But that was how Jongin coped. He was the type who would never try to erase—or deny—that such things existed.

That something as 'we' existed.

"Chacha's quite old," I said. "It's difficult, having to maintain him at this day and age."

"I suppose you're right," he replied, before opening the door. "Hop in."

I rode shotgun, and what I noticed first, was how the scent of his car didn't change. We used to argue about the car freshener, with Jongin saying he wanted black ice. I pressed on, however, with watermelon. In the end, he yielded, with the condition that I would provide the expenses regarding the freshener. I agreed, but as months passed by, he made me stop paying, but he didn't change the scent.

"I got used to it," he explained briefly. "I tried switching to black ice, but I got dizzy."

"I see," I replied, nodding away. For some odd reason, I was happy. I looked at his iPod, connected to the aux cord.

"You can play a song. Whatever you want."

"Your password?"

"It's still the same."

I dialed 1010, and pressed OK. It got unlocked.

"You're strong," I said.

"Why'd you say that?" he buckled his seatbelt, and gestured me to do the same, to which I did.

"You let some things stay the same."

"It's not like they trigger bad memories, Suji," Jongin replied. "I enjoyed the time I spent with you. More than anything, you helped me mature."

"You were the same for me."

Silence shrouded us, and he ignited the engine. I started browsing through his playlist. Even the folder I created before was still there.