Chapter Text
Stone the cowardly. The heart holds on to the familiar, and my fingers have conjoined in matrimony with the very object that might lead me to the end covered in tar-black smoke. I have seen days of staring at my own face in the mirror, the fine lines around my eyes pulling at my skin and weighing me down to anchor the reminder of the days that I have simply let pass me by.
Nothing changed, nothing avenged nor requited.
My blood sings to the jagged melody of regret. It burns me from the inside out, like I am destined to be forever seared by it. My nights are haunted by the demands of my heart, demands of honesty and justice. Justice for what, precisely? For the pain that I have caused myself? For the amount of time I spent on my bed, declaring myself a broken man whose baton is broken on the floor?
Woe is me. A fool is a fool is a fool.
I loosen my tie to the thought of such helplessness.
I dislike pondering over ‘what-if’s. Why would you ruminate on something you cannot possibly touch anymore? The moment exists in a completely different world, now, a world that you have wasted, dismissed, and abandoned.
If you asked me if I ever possessed the desire to grab a hold of time, to assert my power over it and retrieve everything I wish I could perfect in terms of execution, I would say yes. I wish I could taste regret in the beginning, instead of having to face it in the end, powerless as a child being given a choice. I wish I had known better, I wish I had chosen better. I wish I had lived better; I wish I had lived at all.
I wish I could tell you everything I want to tell you now. All the words that have branded themselves on my back, searing my spine and breaking me in two. I wish my lips were looser, my tongue honest and my heart completely open for you. Each night I gaze upon the skies and I ask him: Why?
Why did we come to be parted?
And why did I let it happen?
؛༊
11 January 1992
Seoul is beyond anything I have ever seen before. If only I could take you here, Soobin, I think you would adore it beyond your wildest imaginations. I still find it hard to believe that I am here. I cannot wait to take you here. I only arrived at the apartment three days ago. People here are kind to me. Strict and slightly sour-faced, but I find it charming. Or at least I think so. I think I am still wide-eyed about this, but I would not wait for the jaded heartbreak to settle in. If possible, I would prefer to remain ignorant forever and ever. It makes life much easier to endure, does it not?
I miss everyone. I miss everyone madly.
Nothing ever prepares you for loneliness.
You will always think that you’re ready for it, but the moment arrives when you must face the silence that now deafens you, and then you lose all abilities to stay afloat in a short amount of time. I like to see things as they are. I am never prepared enough.
Today is my first day at work. When Soobin’s brother told me that his friend was willing to outsource employees from outside the city, I immediately agreed to it. Taking up a challenge, sure, I could perhaps call it that… but with utmost honesty I know that I needed to make a life for myself and push myself for as long as my health allows it. As long as my body allows it.
Accounting. What do I know about accounting? As it seems to have appeared to me: some things. I went to do a Bachelor’s programme in Computer Engineering, but I have always found myself drowned in Mathematics as a hobby. I am not too horrid with numbers, and I passed the pre-employment assessment test with flying colours, as he informed me. And then I was relocated.
Days passed me by, and now I am in my own room. With my suitcase and my new suit laid prepared on the bed. I am sitting in my undershirt and boxers, the clock ticking behind me. Should I get dressed now, is my first question. I would certainly be too hot to wear the full suit now. I have more than two hours away until I have to leave. Soobin’s brother has informed me of the route, and I will always have a map ready if I need assistance. Is it better to be too early or just in time? Or perhaps one minute late just in case no one is there?
I am so nervous that I feel faint. That sensation of being short of breath, the freezing cold you feel on your skin, as if you have stepped into a refrigerator and then stepped outside again. My mouth is dry and my hands are shaking. I do not want to make a fool of myself later, but god, I might. I think I will.
I practiced talking last night. I thought of the things that I will say to my future employer, and I wrote approximately fifty-five questions that I might receive, should there be a window of time in which my employer will ask to talk to me in private. I also prepared five possible small talk topics that I might encounter. ‘Culture shock’ is first, and then ‘have you a girlfriend’ is second, and the third is an eye roll, preceded by a curt handshake.
I would not say that I am well prepared. Clearly I am sweating the soap out of my back. I will carry perfume in my bag, always, and especially for emergencies.
God, I need a cigarette.
I open the window as wide as it allows me.
The bed has been trilling a siren call ever since I stepped out of the office. I have put my blazer and shirt in my wardrobe, leaving me in my undershirt and trousers. I sit up against the headboard, and take out the ashtray from the drawer. I set it on the side table, and fix my lips upon a brand new filter whose bitterness already touches the tip of my tongue like an unfamiliar lover meant to be for me. The moonlight gleams an ivory bar across the pale duvet, separating me from the outside world in a bedroom that still catches me by surprise.
Silence, but the nightlife that whispers relentlessly. A type of newborn seduction I find easy to quiet. I wonder what mother is doing at this moment. I wonder if Soobin is listening to a brand new record. He buys one almost every week, it baffles me to no end. But without him, I would not have learned how to sing. I whistle most days, at the moment. The city would have to quiet down for me to make a noise at all.
I have not walked home the streets in the dark with my work suit on. That experience opened my eyes. I felt and truly understood that I was beginning a new phase in my life… one that seemed so grand when I was little. I saw businessmen and office workers everywhere, appearing handsome and sharp and brilliant. A part of me fantasised that I would become one of them one day, but a part of me always felt as if I was too geeky to appear ‘smart’ in a way that means ‘attractive’. Smart that does not get you ridiculed but desired. I don’t think I’m desired now, but I think I have truly become one of them from what I could see in the mirror. I’m wearing a suit for my first ‘serious’ job. As ordinary as it sounds, it’s a faraway fantasy for most.
I kept my head down but I watched everyone around me. Strangers in different stages of their lives. Strangers of all ages in their own uniforms. Strangers with different looks on their faces. I questioned their anger, their sadness, their joy. I found myself curious about what led to their calamity, what bothers their peace to the point that they can walk home in tears. I found myself wishing I could read minds, wondering if I could fix their troubles and bring them ease.
But no one quite looked at me in return. I tried my best to remember the way home, and I did. I got myself bread from the store, and some strawberry jelly that Mother usually buys for our home.
I brought my old lighter with me. Brass and smooth, with scratches that my father left. I watch as the blue flame slowly consumes the tip as if it is glad to meet her, as if it is that easy to make a connection so deeply ingrained. Almost every cigarette tastes the same. I bought a different brand but it’s almost identical to me. Or perhaps I just miss home.
I miss my life. As much as I am enthused to begin a new one, who does not prefer familiarity and the comfort of your loved ones? Sometimes life takes you down strange pathways. Why do I have to leave things behind to gain new, better ones? The risks that we achieve from abandoning things, either permanently or temporarily is one of the most moronic but adorably human things that we can do to ourselves. I shake my head at it, but here I am doing the exact same thing, as I am certain other people are also living the same life. One out of many.
I don’t know what I should do. Live my life and work everyday. And then I come home and eat. And then repeat everything all over again. I suppose that is what it means to be alive.
To find a routine you can accept, and live it forever.
I don’t know if I can accept that.
؛༊
12 January 1992
I finished my first day of work in a brand new office. Accounting is simpler than I ever thought it would be. Did they give me an easier workload? I don’t particularly know but I’m not complaining either. Maybe tomorrow I’ll do something different after work. I like going home and being home but if I don’t put in the habit of going out and visiting places I might lose myself and my head here.
Maybe I should look into what’s available on the city bulletin board. And perhaps in a few month’s time I can save some money to buy myself a guitar. Or maybe one day, a typewriter. Wouldn’t that be so amazing?
I need to call Mother one of these days. I haven’t even written a single letter. Soobin, as well. I miss him.
The bulletin board showed a few events that are happening this week, but I set my eye upon a gallery exhibition. Urban Reform is written in a spray-painted style on the small poster, and the address was not too far from my workplace. I planned to go immediately after work, and perhaps have dinner out later after that.
Now I am finding myself running, because I ended work later than desired. I have almost memorised the route for now, and this place is quite bright from the outside, I would not have missed it in any way. There are people walking away from the gallery, presuming that it’s a little over five in the evening, and the gallery closes at six. I immediately make my way inside and grab the leaflet that is offered at the door.
There are four artists as part of the group show of this particular exhibition, the leaflet informs. All of the artists offered works in various media. Painting, photography, objects, pottery, ceramics, they are all there. The exhibition has lasted for the past three weeks, and this week marks the final chance for people to come and see before the gallery presents a wholly different event.
I suppose I still have time tomorrow if I don’t catch every single work here, but I believe that I’m only going to skim through some of them. I would not call myself particularly artistic, but I am a curious person. I want to see what the city offers, and from what I can see, everything looks promising.
I walk past most of them, taking a little over five minutes to read each brief explanation that the artists have provided for their work. The gallery provides an ample atmosphere for you to observe and appreciate these works, and I find myself feeling calmer than I was yesterday. Perhaps there is something nice that you can find in being around others, even if you are not particularly interacting with them. The knowledge that they are around you satisfies your soul in a particular way, I believe. I find pleasure in seeing people with their friends, people standing alone, giving space for each other to read the small paragraph that is provided for their perusal.
I happen to stop at one artwork. I don’t quite understand which aspect about it particularly demands my attention, but to note one—the sheer size of it is impressive. It is approximately longer than two metres, spanning half of the wall space that the gallery offers in that particular corner of the room. The colour palette is almost ordinary and plain, with shades of grey and black dominating the canvas. As I walk closer and lean my head forward, I begin to see the details of yellow, gold, and silver. Little hints of decadence that I would have missed had I simply walked past it. If I look a little closer, I can see small, futuristic vehicles that resemble limousines. I have never even seen one in real life, but this artist made them look almost like jet black rockets, soaring above a misty land of skyscrapers.
“I would have never guessed that you would be interested in my work, you know.”
The voice startles me beyond belief. The fact of its softness and gentility does not escape me, but I suppose I was too focused on the detail at the edge of the canvas. I jump, and whip my head around to face the man behind me. I nearly gasp aloud.
The first thing I notice about him is his hair. Stark, bright white like icicles. Midnight snow, untouched and quiet beneath the darkness of a silent moon’s kiss. For a moment, I am at a loss as to what I can or cannot say. What I should or should not say, what I must say, indeed, to not myself seem such a fool as I appear to be at the moment.
I have never, in my life, seen a man who looks like him.
Perhaps, it would also be a grave mistake for me to call him ‘a man’. He reminds me of the boy on the cover of The Little Prince, if the prince is not so little and is seemingly better suited for nobility beyond a monarchy. He is tall, broad-shouldered, and steady in his posture. I find myself standing a bit straighter in front of him, facing him properly the way my mother taught me. ‘Like a gentleman,’ she said.
His eyes are bright and wide, his lips are small and pursed, and on his face lay multiple beauty marks that must make me appear a bit cross-eyed. I simply cannot make up my mind. His hair is styled to be completely unobstructive to his face, revealing his forehead and sharp eyebrows. He looks like a model.
“Goodness me.”
The man’s eyes widen.
Imagine my grief when I realise I have tasted those words on my tongue. I have truly uttered those words. Said them out loud, for the man to hear. I don’t even know his name, yet the thought of seeing him again makes me want to isolate myself from the rest of the world.
“Pardon?” he says.
“I apologise,” I say. “Sorry, could you please repeat your previous question?”
The man grins, wide and unassuming. I can see the crow’s feet around his eyes as he does so, and something within me stirs a little odd. He is so unbelievably handsome that I stand the slightest bit unsteady. My collar is suffocating me.
“I said, I would not expect you to be interested in my work.” He gazes at the painting in front of us. The canvas, for a moment, overtakes me. The sheer size of it makes it appear more like a true, natural landscape, even if I can only see mosaics and severed pieces of mixed material that create visions of a new world. Modern and unlike anything I have ever seen; an entirely futuristic view of a city scape with pink neon aurora. Grand, grey, and glimmering—it is the loneliest place I can imagine myself to be.
“If I may be honest, I was not aware of your work.”
He smiles. “I understand that. I started five years ago. Painted a decade ago, but it’s only recently that I decided to put my work in a gallery like this.” He moves to shrug his shoulders. “I suppose, now it’s a more prestigious thing to do. Doing art. Air quotes, air quotes. But if you ask me if I’ve always enjoyed it, then, yeah, I do.”
“That sounds wonderful.”
“Do you often go to galleries and ponder about artistic quality?” There is a teasing tone in the man’s voice, and I hold back my laughter. I’m not sure if he is seeking criticism, or if he’s attempting to coax one out of him. I’ve got nothing to say; I know close to nothing about any of this.
“Surely,” I say. “I think yours needs more purple.”
He laughs. “I’ll keep that in mind, thanks.” And then he outstretches a hand in my direction, and I swallow the lump in my throat. “I’m Kai.”
Odd name, but artists have free reign to do anything, no?
“Kang Taehyun,” I say. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. And thank you,” I gesture at the painting, “for sharing your work. It’s truly wonderful.”
“Thank you,” he bows, “I appreciate that a lot. It’s a great deal for me to even have my work exhibited this way, you know. It’s a privilege to any artist, and a blessing, to have their work be seen by others like this. It’s a gift when someone likes it, and it’s a treasure when someone tells you firsthand that they like it. So, actually, thank you. From me, genuinely.”
I return the bow and turn to look at the painting once more. I meant what I said earlier. I know almost nothing about this; I was not precisely surrounded by people whose passion was fine arts. I have tried my hand drawing, sketching. I like photography, but I haven’t got a camera. I can only seem to stand here in front of this grand painting, one too big for a man his size, and wonder about how it would feel if we have the opportunity to step inside the contained worlds that are created inside artworks. I wonder how it would feel to be part of Kai’s neon-gritty neo-noir futuristic drama. I am uncertain if I’m brave enough to try it.
“What inspired you to make it?” I hear myself blurt out. “If I… may ask.”
I can smell his perfume now. Almost like flowers, but woody. I lean slightly sideways, to avoid smelling more of him. Isn’t it quite a feat, when a person’s physical attraction can make you feel nervous? I don’t think that it’s strictly because you are truly attracted to them—to this day I still can’t understand how attractive people can make you do silly things or react in silly ways because you barely know them or their character. I think it’s dangerous, to be so handsome. I won’t particularly say that he makes me nervous, but he certainly makes me feel uneasy. The same way a stranger can make me feel uneasy. Perhaps I am just startled by how close we are standing together, but we had to be close, in a way. We are staring at the centre of the painting, of course we have to be closer than most people would, perhaps in other situations where the canvas is significantly wider. Correct?
“Of course,” Kai says. His voice is quieter now. He inhales… and I can almost feel the movement against my throat. Are we closer than I envisioned us being, through what my peripheral vision allows me? I am uncertain, but I am unsure as to how I can particularly find a way to discover the reality of this situation. What if I turn my head and we are that close? I have not prepared a proper reaction to this situation. It would be completely out of my guess.
“I think I feel lonely,” Kai continues. His voice is gentler now, as if he is telling me a secret. “Seoul is a big city, but I don’t have that many friends, not really. People don’t wanna be friends when they’re too busy with work, and everyone here’s working towards something. You kinda have to.” He sighs. “Don’t get me wrong, I love this city. I like that everything seems modern and ever-changing. I like that everyone is looking forward to the future, myself included. I think we will do great things in the future but god, I just feel so…”
“Lonely.”
He looks at me, and I cannot find it within myself to look away. His eyes appear like a snowglobe shaken to the point of perpetual nausea, motionsick for beauty. The thought of blinking does not even cross my mind for a second. I cannot be certain what he thinks about me. I cannot be certain of anything but the beauty mark near his eye that seems to attract my attention. Attention that I dampen and do not divulge.
He slowly smiles at me. “Indeed,” he tells me. “Lonely.”
A moment passes between us before he looks back towards his painting, pointing at the neon aurora. “This represents the new sense of beauty that you can see in cities. A bright and fun sense of beauty that can be compared to natural beauties.”
“Like an aurora.”
“Preciesly.” He nods. “Though my idea was initially a ghostly presence. Looming over everything and polluting every single aspect. That’s why I painted it this way, but I like the word you used, Taehyun. Aurora.” He takes a moment for himself, as if he is tasting the word in his tongue. “Aurora. I like that.” He nods again, satisfied. He looks delighted, and I don’t know how to handle this situation in a way that is appropriate or reasonable.
I like the way my name sounds when he says it. I wasn’t aware that the tone of someone’s voice can change the resonance of one’s name that much, or affect how much it sounds to the ear. I liked it. I don’t believe I have felt that way regarding my name ever before, or was aware enough of what I find myself capable of feeling.
“Um—”
“Do you want a tour?”
I freeze. “A tour?” I ask him.
He seems nervous now. Maybe I have worried him with my reaction, but how could someone like him be nervous? Especially because of me; it only seems wholly improbable! He looks all around us, above my head, on my shoulders, everywhere and anywhere but my eyes. I want to tell him that nothing is wrong, but I don’t know how that will de-escalate the situation in any way.
“I’m sorry if—”
“Yes.”
I surprised even myself.
“Yes?” Kai asks me. I can see his eyebrows shooting up high against his seemingly sculpted hairline. “Yes to the tour?”
I can’t help the laugh that escapes me now. This man is quite silly. I nod. “Yes to the tour.”
“Have you walked through the entire gallery?”
“No.” I have.
“Perfect!” Kai grins, and claps his hands together. “Perfect, okay, let’s go, I’ll explain everything for you. Well, everything that’s mine, of course.”
“I would appreciate that, thank you very much.”
“You’re so formal, do you know that?”
“And you’re very forward with a stranger.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” He stops suddenly. Had I been walking behind him, it would be similar to walking straight towards a brick wall. “Do you mind that?”
“Do I mind…?”
“That I can seem forward.”
Kai’s face is hilariously red.
I try my best to appear the kindest I can be.
“Of course not, Kai. Of course not.”
“Okay, whew. Alrighty.”
He seems to be gathering his composure back again. I hold back my smile. I wonder if he thinks about other people who might need his assistance, his presence and explanation. But here he is, tending to me. I don’t quite understand the feelings that run through my mind as the realisation of this situation slowly dawns upon me.
“So, shall we?”
I nod, and follow after him.
He decides to take me to the very start. I can see more and more people beginning to exit the gallery, perhaps at the advise of the employees that keep flickering their worried glances at their wristwatches back and forth. I begin to feel uneasy, but Kai seem to not care at all about the whispers that occur behind us regarding orders of leaving for closure.
Kai leads me to the wall not too far from the entrance, where his section of the exhibition begins. There is a small table with a stack of leaflets, some that I have ignored when I decided to browse through the exhibition. A decision that I come to regret. Perhaps if I had learned a thing or two about what he creates, I would not appear such a fool.
I point at the artwork exhibited on the wall, and the light points in an odd way towards it. Angled, as if it’s not meant to be lit completely. Perhaps the viewer is not meant to see it clearly?
“And what is this one about?”
Medicinal, 1992
He exhales. “Whew, this one?”
“Mhm.”
He hums slowly, before beginning to explain: “It’s a collage. I really like Metropolis, it’s a 1920’s silent movie. If you look at the screen captures from that movie, there are many city landscapes that look unlike anything else I’ve ever seen before. So, I looked at film communities in the city and they often make prints, so I asked their members for tons of donations. Screen cap donations.” He grins, and one of his hands extends to brush the tip of his fingers against the corner of the collage cut-out. “They gave me most of my material. Collage requires you to do a shit-ton of collecting, and I’m not really the biggest fan of that.” He shrugs. “And of course, they were more than happy to get rid of their precious trash. They’ve helped me make my treasures, that’s for sure.”
“I like this one,” I say. “It reminds me of a page out of a magazine, just… elevated.”
And then he smiles at me, wide and unfamiliar. As if he knows me. As if we have spent years talking, and somehow I have simply lost all my memories with him.
“Thank you,” he tells me. “I like that a lot.”
“Shall we continue?”
The gallery is almost vacant now.
Kai grins at me, slowly, deliberately. There is a look in his eyes that I cannot quite decipher, but the desire to disrupt this curiosity leaves me the moment he takes me by the sleeve of my blazer, and drags me to his next creation.
؛༊
13 January 1992
I met someone. I know how that sounds, but it is nothing like that. I met an artist. I don’t think I’ve ever met an artist before.
He told me everything about his work in an exhibition. And yes, I also forgot to say that I went to an exhibition today at an art gallery. It was amazing. I’ve never gone to an art gallery before. Isn’t my day so surprising? In the best way, of course.
His name was Kai. He was blonde, tall, talented, and wonderfully handsome. City boys. The ones that I used to see in magazines back home. Somehow, they truly exist out of those pages.
Creative, up in the clouds, fantastical, and most of all, attractive. Decked in head to toe with charm - human charm - the kind that makes you more nervous than something forced. I can admit that he made me fidget. His eyes contained answers that complete his sentences. My suit sleeve touched his shirt.
Does that mean something?
I have been thinking that I need to make new friends in the city. Isn’t it awfully lonely, to spend most of your days isolated in your bedroom? I understand that on most days, I would be too tired to even consider interacting with another person, let alone have a deep conversation with them the way I am with Soobin. But if I have to be frank, I need to know someone here. If not, nobody will quite know how I am. If I am safe or not, if I am alive…
Today is a Saturday. My first ever work weekend in the city. How exciting! But every new experience is most likely going to be quite exciting. I was thinking of going to the bookstore and buying a book today, something to read while I sit down and have a drink somewhere. Perhaps I’ll visit some secondhand stores, see if I can buy myself a thing or two, if I am lucky enough.
I brought my notebook with me. I kept thinking about how I need to write home. I have not called either. I do feel guilty, but what is the use of feeling guilty if you don’t try to make up for it? One way or another, the best alternative is to do it without any remorse towards what evokes that guilt. Mother must miss me quite a lot. I wonder what Soobin is up to, what records he’s bought, if he’d met someone in the very short time I moved away, if his family is doing alright…
If I would be given the opportunity to bear my heart to you, I would admit that loneliness is nothing close to misery. Don’t you find it as comforting as I do, most days? There is immense safety in the presence of your company—your sole company. Nothing that can perceive you in any way, nobody that can see you and make remarks about what you are doing. Or perhaps they would keep their thoughts to themselves, but there they are: those thoughts.
Perception is what drowns me in discomfort at times. The thoughts of another person that are catalysed by my presence. The remarks that are tempted to be expressed to me, and no one else. That is often the root of all interaction, though; the idea that you share experiences and visions and then you express your thoughts on them, even if the vision was yourself. And then I would respond in agreement or in denial, about my own actions that they have perceived with myself being a witness to that perceptive process.
I would admit that that is an odd way to look at human interaction. Rather robotic, but I don’t have that many friends. I have never dated anyone seriously, the way others have with their dreams of marriage and life with a companion. I have only shared the warmth of holding hands with another person, and the mysterious emotions that can form after that interaction. Beyond that, I have not bothered to quite experiment or try.
I think in some ways, my discomfort with certain types of human interaction makes me a bit self-centred. I think too much about what others think about me, how people see me based on the way that I present myself. But then, that is just how I see these things. I never forced anyone to quite agree with me, or challenge them to disagree.
I am just admitting to you that I also feel lonely.
As I am now—I am lonely.
I find myself reliving the memory of that evening. Of myself and the man I met for one day. After he told me the story of all of his artwork in the exhibition, he offered to walk me home. I told him no, even though deep down I was enthusiastic at the idea. But there was something in my expression, possibly, that gave it away. I cannot recount what I did, or what I said that made him smile at me that evening.
“Are you uncomfortable with the idea?” he asked me. “Because then I won’t offer anymore. I just want to talk a little bit more. You told me that you walk to work and you walked here too, so I assumed you live close by? And… and it’s dark, and it’s late.”
“It’s seven,” I said.
He looked sheepish. He scratched the back of his neck and looked away from me. I kept looking at him. I can’t help it—he is marvelously handsome.
“I… yes.”
“You want to talk to me… more?”
He looked up at me then. I simply froze. I had never been in that situation before, ever in my life.
“Well, yes,” he told me. “We don’t even have to talk. I can just walk you home. If you would allow me to. I don’t know how to—I just. Well. I wanna… talk… more.”
I just blurted: “Do you want to be friends?”
It took him a moment before he reacted. He widened his eyes at me, and beneath the gilded street light outside of the gallery, I could see the rosy hint on his face. I don’t know, still, if I had said something ridiculous then, but I already said it at that point. I couldn’t quite take it back, could I?
“Yes!” he told me. Loud. So much so that it surprised me. “Yes, I want to be friends. Kang Taehyun, yes, I’d love to be your friend. Let’s be friends. Let’s… yes. Yes.”
I laughed at him then. His enthusiasm was adorable—I would have never imagined that sort of a reaction to an invitation to be friends. He really was quite the character.
“Just Taehyun, please. You remind me of my homeroom teacher.”
“Oh, man.” He snickered. “I’m sorry.”
“Um… Kai?”
“Yes?” He blinked, wide-eyed and alert towards me.
“You still want to…?”
He looked like a bug. “Walk you home?”
It took me a while to respond. He was behaving in such a strange way that I couldn’t make a proper reaction of my own. It was a bit strange, that we just met each other and he already offered something that only Soobin would offer to do with me at school. It reminded me of the old days again, for a moment, and I thought that Kai and Soobin would perhaps get along in the strangest way. It was just a whiplash to imagine those two in the same place, at the same time. It seemed as if they belonged to two different worlds entirely.
“Yes, Kai. Walk me home.”
He grinned at me, and at that moment, his big, beaded eyes turned into crescents for me. There was something within me that I could not quite decipher then, but I quieted any noise that interrupted my experience of the present. I was standing there with this talented person in this new, massive city; I would love to take in this moment fully, instead of drowning my own consciousness with things that I cannot even touch.
“That would be my pleasure, Taehyun.”
He spoke in such a princely manner then, that I half expected him to offer me his arm. The funny thing was, I would have expected, just to go along with the joke. But you know, they say there is some truth in every joke, and I am inclined to agree. I felt that this friendship that I had the bravery of insinuating was going to grow into something beautiful.
The thing about Seoul at night was not always the intimidating quiet of the dark. Sometimes, what gets me the most is how crowded it is under the neon lights. It terrifies me on days when I, somehow, forget where my way home is. I don’t live too far away from the centre but it is still quite a way away.
As it began to reveal itself to me: we were awkward with each other. We walked in silence most of the time then, with my voice interrupting to say ‘this way please’. Then he would follow me towards that direction, nodding a bit timidly as he kept me at the right side of the street, closer to the buildings than the main street. He would make remarks of the weather, even if there was not much to talk about considering how amazingly normal it was that evening.
“The… skies! The skies,” he said to me.
I bit back my laughter and turned to him. He was so tall that I had to crane my neck a little bit to meet his eyes. Even if they did not meet mine. His hair was almost white when the streetlight cast its beam on us.
“The… skies?”
He giggled a little, it surprised me. “The skies.”
“What’s happening to them?” I asked, just to go with whatever joke he was trying to start. Or if he wasn’t joking, I wouldn’t know.
“I… I don’t know what I was about to say, I forgot. Sorry.”
“That’s okay.”
I didn’t know what changed, all of the sudden. Perhaps it was the sudden isolation between the two of us. We were surrounded by people walking past us, but somehow that did not stop me from hesitating before I opened my mouth to let a single word out. From my peripheral vision, I could also see that there were moments in which Kai moved to turn his head towards me, mouth parted to say something, but then he would stop. And nothing was said. And I was standing there, questions drowning my thoughts… yet I could not find it within myself to speak also. I still wonder about that night.
What happened?
“So what made you go to the gallery?”
I realised then, that we had not talked about that in full.
I sighed, albeit a little too loud, with relief. “I thought I needed to do something after work. I like structure in my days, and well, I suppose work does help with that quite a lot. But this is a wholly different world to when I was in uni, so I suppose I was looking for ways to not stay at home.”
“Mm. It makes you feel more alive, yeah?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve had days like that, days when—”
“This way please.”
“Oh, yeah, ‘f course—days when I kinda don’t wanna stay cooped up in my bedroom. It makes me feel like I’ve done completely nothing for the last twenty years of my life, or stuff like that. It’s crazy, I know, but I think that’s what’s happening in my head when I haven’t really had anything scheduled for the whole week. So I always try to just do something, anything. Sign up for this class, that class. Go to this project.”
“I understand,” I said. “It’s good knowing that someone else feels what I feel as well.”
He nodded. “Makes you feel less alone.”
I nodded as well. “Precisely.” And then I thought to myself that it must be my turn. “Do you have another exhibition to go to when this one is over? I saw that this week is the last.”
It took him a moment to realise what I was trying to say. “Oh, yeah, um… no. Not now, I don’t think. I assume you meant if I was going to submit my work to another exhibition immediately, then no. I need to prepare for that, and I think exhibitions don’t quite show up that much or that often around here. I got lucky because I was just around so many people that do art, that’s how I got to know about this. But I think for now I want to just fill up my personal collection and maybe sell some of my work, if the chance ever comes up and someone wants to.”
I smiled. “Focusing on the self?”
He grinned at me, that mirthful, boyish grin that made me quite happy to see. “Focusing on the self, yeah.”
“Oh, this is me.”
He furrowed his eyebrows at me for a moment, before he looked at what was in front of him. We’d arrived at my home. He let out a shaky laugh, and his hand came up to scratch the back of his neck.
“Oh! I forgot,” he said to me, giggling. “Yeah. We’re here, aren’t we?”
“Yes,” I smiled, “thank you. For walking me here.”
“It really was my pleasure, Taehyun. Thank you for letting me! I think,” he looked away from me then, “I think you’re real nice to talk to. So thank you,” he looked at me again, “for asking me to be your friend. I’d love to be. As I… have said before, have I? Yes, I have, you heard it, right?”
I laughed then, and he kept staring at me. It made me quiet down, but I saw nothing in his expression that showed anything regarding how wide I always open my mouth when laughter catches me off guard. He was simply smiling at me, never taking his sight away from me. I did not know what that meant, or what I felt meant.
All of the sudden, I was in high school again, learning how to talk to another person and be ‘charming’ while doing it. Now, I thought then, I still wonder if my jokes are funny, if I’m sarcastic in the ‘right’ way, if Kai liked me at all, or if I wanted him to like me. It was such a strange feeling that I tried my best to not drown myself in it.
“Yes, I did,” I finally answered. “I heard you.”
“Amazing.” He grinned, wide and bright even in the dim light.
“So I suppose…” I trailed off, angling my body slightly towards the direction of my door. “I suppose I shall… go?”
“Oh!” He widened his eyes. “Of course, yeah. Yeah, of course. Have a,” he raised a hand, then quickly dropped it, “have a good rest of your evening, Taehyun. And sleep well tonight.”
“You too!” I said.
And then I speed-walked inside.
The entire interaction seems ridiculous, now that I am looking back in hindsight. I still don’t know why I behaved so strangely. I still don’t know why I felt so odd. And I still don’t know what it was about Kai that made me feel quite at edge.
Not in a negative way, I would say. He simply made me lose my composure. Also not in a negative way.
It was simply a strange emotion to feel.
And it was even more disorienting if I take into consideration that Kai is still a complete stranger to me.
Unknowingly, predictably, I reach for my pack of cigarettes.
I cannot seem to quite let my mind be devoid of visions of his smile.
I did not even think to ask for his phone number.