[1.5] The Penitence Of Mars | Seonghwa [SEQUEL] ✓

three | MARS gets the curveball of many days past

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PARK SEONGHWA—UNAPPROACHABLE SEONGHWA—IS exceptional with animals, has a soft spot for them.

     'Here, boy.'

     I call him Smooch. The dog, not Seonghwa. Why Smooch? A reminder that whenever I pick up the furball, I kiss him. A thank you ritual. Thank you for filling that unmistakable void.

     Smooch is a three-legged white Lhasa Apso. A Tibetan-bred tail-wagger missing one of its hind legs—the left one—and that's when I knew I had to adopt him. That and hearing him bark, repulsed by my ugly sweater that day. I've always had a knack for honesty ... even if I've seen better days. Here, Smooch doesn't shy away from Seonghwa because he knows him, and first time they met, during one of those coincidental espying (I assume they're coincidental) at the park, my mutt immediately did that thing where he licked a face and proclaimed friend. My second ally has bitten the hand that feeds him. Sometimes, he's in a literal mood. Smooch is part of the #ForgiveParkSeonghwa Movement but what stops me from giving him the silent treatment like I do everyone else is that adorable face of his. Hard to resist, I tell you.

     Just a side thought: they remind me of each other.

     When Smooch is done rolling out the red carpet for his hero, he remembers I exist, shifts to me and permits my unworthy hands pick him up, kiss him. He returns the favour with a slobbery, wet, disgusting one of his own. Like I've just inhaled bowwow tongue. Then I smell tuna on his breath—lunch. Well, someone needs to brush their teeth.

     'Make yourself at home.'

     Seonghwa stands there out of place, longer than I expect before he starts discarding his shoes. He had a spare key once and I was rather content with his unannounced visits. Mi casa is su casa—our unspoken motto. What do you call someone who becomes a stranger in what they could audaciously call home once?

     San would scream 'Traitor!' if he was here and request a cookie.

     'Thirsty?' The first thing you ask someone when you invite them into your dwelling is if their mouth is droughty and it's up to them to know you're hardly talking of water. But, Seonghwa is contemplative before he deems it fit to speak and asks for just water.

     'Just water is fine. Thank you.'

     Such humbleness, I think. I saunter to the kitchen, feeling his attention trace every movement I make while I assume he's settled his ass on my comfortable sofa (I give myself that credit), before I disappear through the archway. Grabbing a glass and filling it with water feels like the most tasking thing I've done yet when he's on monitor duty in the adjoining room. I return with his request, place it on the coffee table in front of him, plop my own ass down on the same sofa. There's at least an extra butt's space between us.

     'Thank you.'

     The silence, it's aggravating that I blame Seonghwa for it, he who thought to chase me down ten steps and offer company. I forget how we wind up in front of my apartment building, in my apartment. I remember that many days ago, again, after the incident and I had to move back in. Gathered every last one of my existence from his house, bunching them out the front door. You know what I thought while hiccuping and trilling mucus? I thought of Life Lesson #1: Never believe a guy that cajoles you into moving in with him. Everything sucks less than realising your entire life has been reduced to becoming a pawn on someone else's chess board. And while San waited downstairs in the car, there was me, hoping I would bump into the cheater and be dramatic, watch him beg some more—even then, I hardly knew what I wanted. But it had all been perfectly timed: Seonghwa was at work.