Grieve

Chapter 11

"Why are people so stupid?" Han grumbles.

"I don't know. But it's a pitiful sight," I answer, watching a group of grown adults—men, especifically—trying to capture a squirrel. They run around through the street, while the poor animal runs as fast as it can towards the greenery on the end of all stores and concrete.

Han and I are sitting in two foldable chairs in front of the store. The bright sun sends heat waves throughout all Zyrkas, reminding us that summer is around the corner. The old man wears sunglasses that make him look badass. Maybe it's not the glasses, just his gloomy expression while looking outside.

"This would be a great day if it were not for the ruined view." Han gives me a side look before we both chuckle.

The squirrel was able to jump into a tree as soon as it touched the grass in a hurry. The men shout laments and then laugh like children. They're probably drunk, even though it's ten in the morning.

"Yesterday you looked kind of tired. Everything alright?" I ask, shifting in my chair. Drops of sweat slide down my neck and toward my shoulders.

Han purses his lips, and that's all I need to know that something happened. Maybe he read his old correspondence again or thought about some family issue that he's never told me about. Whichever it is, it's making him not able to sleep.

"Just thinking, darling. You know how I am."

"Stubborn?" I tease. "Closed-off? Temperamental?"

Han snorts, his eyes become lids directed opposite of where I sit. Then, he frowns and turns sharply to me.

"Who are you describing? Yourself?"

I shrug.

"We're kind of the same."

He sends me an incredulous look that has me laughing.

"Who do you think you are to compare yourself with me, child? I'm already on the verge of death. You're eighteen or something like that," he argues like it's the most absurd thing I've ever said.

I can't help but push him on his naked shoulder. His white-weary vest wet with sweat.

"Don't say that you're gonna die." I frown at him. My heart burns at the thought.

He shakes his head with a smile.

"I will. At some point. I never said it would be soon, but I will. And you, too."

I groan before remembering he called me an eighteen-year-old.

"And I'm twenty-three! You should know that by now."

Han rolls his eyes.

"It's the same thing. Eighteen, twenty-three. My point remains the same," he states, putting his hands on top of his belly.

His voice is hoarser than usual, almost like he's been smoking a tobacco all by himself. I gasp when realization kicks in.

"Han," I say his name slowly, and he frowns.

"What?"

"Did you smoke again?"

He looks at the streets. There are people walking toward the barbershop and Kio Café in the opposite sidewalk, while on our side, there is barely a breeze passing by.

"Han?" I insist, making him grumble.

"Did Evan tell you?" He finally says, a frown in his face.

I squint my eyes at him.

"No, hearing your voice was enough. What did I tell you about smoking?"

He keeps muttering words under his breath.