Traces and Storms

xxxii

   With puffy eyes I went down to the kitchen, only to find a note saying my parents had to go away again. There was the usual apology, and the unusual 'I love you'.

The house—yet again—became too big, and too empty.

Had I the confidence to be sure I would stay the same way even after I've asked my parents about the gaps in my past, I would've called them. Something held me back, however.

I was scared.

I was afraid to know more, and shatter the silence.

Perhaps, Myungsoo knew. He was aware of how I ticked, and so he didn't flinch while exposing that kind of information to me.

There was no news from Myungsoo and Sungyeol. No calls, or messages. The dream stayed vivid, and I refused to leave the house. I filled myself with green tea and cereal; I edited more photos; I cleaned the house and wrote. I did everything I could to get my mind off things, but nothing helped.

It was my third day of skipping my lectures when I received a call from Jongin. I wasn't worried, considering I e-mailed our Head of Department beforehand, and even prepared a fake letter to back up my absences. I suppose it was an advantage of having a quiet demeanor and staying out of trouble. I could lie through my teeth, and people would believe me.

"Have you eaten?" he asked, not even bothering with the usual greeting.

"No, not yet."

I felt the smile in his voice. "Good. Get ready in half an hour. I'll come over and pick you up."

"Where are we going?"

"Just here, in our backyard. We're having barbecue. You love it when my mom does it, don't you?"

I tiny smile broke out on my lips. "Hm."

"You haven't been eating lately." Jongin stated it as a fact.

I didn't respond.

"I can hear it in your voice," he finally said. "So you better eat a lot when you get here. Understand?"

"Hm."

Beep.

I stared at the screen for a while longer, and with a scoff, finally headed upstairs to prepare.

Jongin, of course, didn't arrive after thirty minutes. He simply developed the skill to gauge my movement. Experience and time taught him that I was a slow mover. I wasn't surprised to hear my phone ringing the moment I unlocked our front door.

"I'm here," he said.

"I'm on my way," I replied, before hanging up. I looked down, and noticed that my shoelaces were loose.

The roof of his car gleamed beneath the afternoon sun; he had his windows down, and his tanned arm was leaning on the sill. He was wearing a black shirt—the same as me. Without intending to, I smiled at him, and he smiled back at me.

Jongin got off the car and opened the passenger's door, waiting for me to step inside.

"How's school coming along?" I asked, when he finally ignited the engine.

"The big projects are out of the way, so I can relax like this. How about you? I haven't seen you in campus lately."

I looked down, and tapped on the dashboard, forming a broken rhythm. "I'm playing hooky."

"Well, that's not good," he remarked.

"Aren't you going to ask why?" I asked.

"I won't, but I'll listen if you want to tell."