"[...] it's like I'm sabotaging myself, like I want to stop myself from being happy, like I'm no longer allowed to be happy. A way to atone for my guilt."
Hyunjin after years of loneliness, fear and angst, decides to do something for himself for onc...
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Hyunjin
I step aside when I see the trail of people exiting the training room door at the end of the lesson. They all look destroyed but satisfied, drenched in sweat, as they shuffle towards the changing rooms chatting about this and that.
When the group of people moves away I look out of the doorway and watch him.
I know something is wrong.
We had agreed to see each other tonight, whatever the outcome. He promised to call me after the meeting, but he's been ignoring me all day instead. I can't help but think the worst, and that he didn't have the heart to bring it up on the phone. Maybe he needed a few hours to process it. I understand it, I respect it. But I have a hard time accepting the silent treatment all day long. Not from someone who claims to love me.
I watch him as he wipes away the sweat with the towel, then throws it on the bench and grabs his cell phone. After a couple of taps on the screen, a song I've never heard starts playing and he gets into position, starting to dance despite his tiredness, despite his shortness of breath, even though the day should already be over for him. His is a desperate, almost angry dance. I see it in his burning eyes, I read it in his movements, sometimes sinuous, sometimes snappy, as if he were fighting an inner war rather than dancing.
Maybe he is.
Suddenly, however, he stops and sits on the bench again, exhausted, and pauses the music without ever looking up. I see him shaking his head as if to tell himself that no matter how hard he tries, today not even dancing can save him from his thoughts.
"I see you didn't drop your cell phone down a manhole, I'm glad."
He flinches and almost really drops the phone from his hands. "What the fuck," he curses with wide eyes and almost breathless, "Jesus, you're going to give me a heart attack."
I chuckled softly and entered the room, "I've been waiting for your call after the meeting."
Minho looks away and frowns, "I would have talked to you about it, tonight."
"You left me wondering all day, Minho. I even texted you. What happened?"
I take a few steps closer, the tone of my voice is higher than intended but the frustration accumulated throughout the day is taking over. Minho remains silent, head bowed, massaging his temples. He looks so miserable I can't even stay mad at him.
"Can I?" I ask, gesturing to the seat next to him on the bench.
He nods as if he couldn't ask for anything better. The exact moment I sit down he leans against me, his head against my shoulder and his hand on my stomach, clutching my sweater in his fist. I literally turn into pudding, the frustration vanishes in a flash, giving way to the irrepressible ache to chase away every bad thought from him, all his pain, and pass it on to me.
