Traces and Storms

xxxiv

I let his words sink in, but my mind struggled to register the information Myungsoo provided. The very thought of it was surreal—impossible, even. How they were as a family crossed out the possibility of Mr. and Mrs. Kim adopting a child. And it led me to this very thought: how could someone like Myungsoo be abandoned?

I was livid at first, but then, I started to think that perhaps—just perhaps—Myungsoo isn't as open as I would want him to be, considering his history. I believed he was much better now, being lavished with that kind of parental love. And maybe, he was orphaned because something inevitable happened—something his real parents would avoid if they could. But couldn't.

"What good would it do to you?" I choked out. "For you to tell me such things, Myungsoo, what good would it do to you?"

He exhaled a mouthful of air. His eyes glimmered beneath the dim light, and if he blinked a certain amount of times, tears would begin to fall and trickle down his cheeks.

"I don't know," he whispered. "But letting it out feels like I'm finally introducing myself to you, and it's liberating."

A sob escaped from his lips, followed by another, then another. His shoulders quivered, and as much as I wanted to rub his back, I couldn't. His unguarded posture somehow indicated that he needed some space to grieve.

That he needed some time to be a child again and cry without being questioned. That was a privilege ripped away from us while in the process of growing up, I suppose: the capacity to feel things and be engulfed at that moment with no worries of being judged.

"Those weren't dreams, Suji," he coughed out. He was gasping for air, and it hurt. It pricked my heart in the most painful way possible—seeing Myungsoo in that very fragile state. "What you've told me," he swallowed. "Those weren't dreams, but memories."

"Memories." I repeated.

He sniffed, and wiped his cheeks with the back of his palm. "Of us."

I fell silent.

"Thank you for remembering," he whispered. "I can breathe a little better now."

-::-

We both ended up going to his place. Myungsoo changed his shirt, and we were in the kitchen, having a mug of hot chocolate each.

"I don't understand," I began. "Why did you and Sungyeol fight?"

"I told you, haven't I?" he returned. "It's because he cares for me."

"That just made it more complicated."

"Sungyeol hates it, whenever I go to that place."

"Why?"

"I tend to have sad thoughts afterwards."

I bit my lower lip.

"He caught me before," he admitted. "Around summer some years ago. I smashed myself and filled the tub with water. I don't have to explain what I was trying to do, do I?"

I slowly shook my head.

"I think that was also the time that I truly opened up to him. He never said anything, but I noticed. He became more sensitive around me, but it wasn't to the point where he would coddle me," he pointed at his bruises. "These should prove my point."

"That place, then," I tightened my grip on my mug. "Is it a trigger for you?"

"In a sense, yes," he nodded. "Still, it holds happy memories, too. It's a gray area, to be honest. I feel miserable yet happy whenever I go there."