Destination Seoul

christmas

Thinking that you're fine and that everything will continue to be fine is misleading. It's practically an insult, that you're oblivious to not notice the signs in front of you. And then when it happens, you're the one thinking back to all those moments you've missed, and the regret climbs upwards and claws at your throat until you can't breathe.

It crept up on all of us.

Pancreatic cancer, I think. No, know. Those two words themselves makes me want to throw up. The doctors confirmed it for what felt like the millionth time, their voices flat and tired. As if Halabuji's life—currently clinging to the hospital and their treatment—meant nothing to them.

And yet, instead of curling up by his side, clutching his frail hand, and hoping his eyes would settle enough to give me a hint of the warmth I'm used to, I'm forced to be in the corner of this stupid gathering. A Christmas gathering, to celebrate I don't even know what at I don't know who's parent's restaurant. I plaster on a smile as Jiah comes towards me, dark circles under her eyes and hair matted, a reminder of where we were an hour ago.

She looks like she cried her eyes out. She did cry her eyes out.

And me? I sat in the back of our crowding, overworried family, watching. Nose stinging and heart shattering to pieces. Maybe I was in shock. Maybe that would explain why I didn't cry. Why my aunts had sent me a mix of sympathetic, judgmental stares, as if I were supposed to sob my heart out in order to show people that I cared for a person.

Like the heart clenching and the shallow breathing and the world stopping—all in my brain—wasn't enough. They needed a show.

"Have you seen Taeyoung?" Jiah asks, and my eyebrows knit together. What? I don't hang out with Lee Taeyoung, much less talk to him.

"Isn't he always in the crowd?" I mutter. "Go find his friends or something."

"Sorry," she mumbles. "That's not what I wanted to ask you... how are you feeling?" Jiah asks, and reaches for my hand. Hers is searing, and I twitch my fingers. It's as hot as the steam coming out from the teapot behind us, as lingering as the wisps of smoke that leave our breaths from the cold. Behind her, Mark assesses me, searching for despair.

Like the person I hold on to the most is slipping through my fingers like sand. Because he is, and there's nothing I can do about it.

"Fine," I mumble, and my throat closes up. The two share a glance, and Jiah finally turns back to me.

"Do you want to play some games with us? It might make you feel better. Take your mind off of some things."

"No," I say sharply, and the hopeful expression falls on her face. If playing Korean games and taking Halabuji off her mind is what helps her, fine. Whatever. But for something that happened so recently, I can't let it go. It's playing in my mind on repeat, and I'm the one pressing the button. Dara's doing a better job at letting things go, currently playing some games, a smile growing on her face. Out of the three of us, she resembles his smile the most.

Oh, God. The stupid stinging's coming back.

"I need some fresh air," I mumble. "If I see Taeyoung, I'll tell you, okay?"

And before she protests, I leave.

* * *

It's a white Christmas outside. The snow's settled in on the stairs of the entrance, some of it falling and pricking my skin. Pricking. Needles.

And just like that, I'm reminded of the cold, sterile walls again.

I grimace when I sit on the snow, the ice melting and seeping into my pants. A shiver rackets its way out of me. From the cold. It has to be from the cold. Glancing up at the sky doesn't help, either. The stars are covered by the cloud of pollution, and snow's getting in my eyes.