매미: Crying Night
flailingthroughsanity

Howon’s mother had always reminded him that love can be such a powerful feeling; it can give strength to those who have none, hope from despair and faith beyond belief.

---

I: 여름

Love.

Howon’s mother had always reminded him that love can be such a powerful feeling. He was thirteen, then, and he can still remember the afternoon air in their small house. The light was seeping through the grey curtains, the three fifty-one sun starting to turn a dark orange. In their tiny kitchen, Howon had been at the table, head resting on his arms atop the wooden surface. It was quiet, the way April afternoons were quiet: a little hot and a little too quiet. Through the glass, he could hear the barely-there crying of the cicadas, the cool breeze drifting in through the screen doors and the occasional horn of a delivery truck passing by.

Near the stove, his mother had stood, stirring. The flame of the stove was low, he remembers the shine of the blue heat tinged in yellow tips, remembers the dark underside of the steel pot, the almost-spicy scent of her favorite budae jjigae wafting in the room.

She had been reminiscing then, telling him stories of his late father — how he had been a soldier, how he had met his mother, their first date, that he liked sports but was studying finance. It was tidbits of chatter, the usual things mothers talk to their sons about during a dreary afternoon.

Howon remembers how she had spoken about his father, her voice fluctuating between soft and choked, but she nonetheless continued to stir, as Howon continued to listen in silence.

“One day, Howon, you’ll meet someone you’ll like very much.” She had said, smiling a little as she placed two bowls of stew on the table. Howon had sat up, feeling his stomach waken as crushed the egg in his soup. His mother had taken the seat opposite his, and she mirrored his actions. “One day, you’ll love someone and you’ll understand.”

He was thirteen, then — he knew nothing of love, save for the way his mother took care of him. At school, most of his friends were boys, and thirteen-year old boys don’t care much about love and fondness when there was Tamagotchi and futsal, they were too different things, but Howon knows only that neglecting his virtual pet could end up killing it, and he surmises that maybe love is the same.

He really didn’t understand then, but he chose to say nothing. He’s always been quiet, kept his thoughts to himself, but that’s him.

Outside, the quiet Gon-jiam afternoon continues. Summer was almost near, and his mother had promised to take him to Busan to visit his grandparents. It would be nice, to go to Busan — to see the ocean and feel the warmth, a tad opposite of Gon-jiam’s secluded silence, deep forests and the unpredictable mountain chill. There was also his grandparents’ large house to be excited for, far bigger than the tiny residence they live in here in the sleepy town of Gon-jiam. It would be nice, to see buildings and cars and see bright lights out his window at ten past ten in the evening, unlike the early evenings of this little town, punctuated by the occasional passing car and the ever-present cicadas.

Yes, it would be nice.

He remembers digging into his food, the sound of cutlery ringing in his ears, and the crying of the cicadas.

II: 여름, 진정

Gon-jiam was a little town, surrounded by forests, resting on the foot of a large mountain range. It was in the middle of nowhere — the houses built far apart amidst tall grass, a river cutting a blue path through the middle, the town hall a two-story building made of wood and stone. It was a little town like a lot of little towns, where everyone probably knew everyone.

There was Mr. Sunggyu, the owner of the little restaurant in front of their house, who always greeted Howon every time he walked to school. He was a tall man, with small eyes and a big smile. His mother loved to buy from him, and Howon knows that Mr. Sunggyu’s food is the town’s favorite. He’s seen the mayor and his family eat at Mr. Sunggyu’s place during the weekends.

As Howon walks, the dirt path crunching under his old sneakers, he passes by Mr. Lee’s house, their next door neighbour. Their house was a lot like his, with a small garden and he sees Mr. Lee’s son, Sungjong, playing with his dog.

“Oi, Howonnie! Off to school?” Sungjong calls out, a waving hand raised. Beside him, his dog looks steadily at Howon.

He nods, answering. “Yes, hyung.”

“Did you have a good summer?” Sungjong asks, slowly walking to the gate. He leans on the fence, smiling at Howon.

Howon likes Sungjong’s smile, it is a friendly smile. He nods at the older man’s question. “Mom and I went to Busan to visit my grandparents. It was nice there. We went to the beach almost every day.”

Sungjong laughs. “That would explain your tan.”

Howon chuckles a little, still recalling the sunburn a week ago. It was a lot better now, he tells his hyung. Sungjong waves goodbye after a while, reminding him of class and Howon nods in promise, back on his way.

His school isn’t that far, just a few blocks away and in the middle of town. It was a small one, with only three classrooms, and Howon knows that in big cities like Busan, it would be bigger than that. Here in Gon-jiam, though, he could count with both hands the kids around his age, and the rest were two or three years younger than them. The ‘big kids’ like Howon would often be asked to help the younger ones during study hall, since the only teacher had a baby to take care of during the afternoon.

Some of his classmates hated it, but Howon didn’t really mind. He liked to play with the younger kids — ‘Hey, be careful or else they’ll want to marry you.’, his classmate Sungyeol, would often say — and maybe because they liked him that it was less of a task and more of an enjoyable experience for him.

He’s rounding the bend, the early morning chill drifting through the thick trees, when a car cuts the corner. He’s surprised — they don’t get to see many cars in this part of town — and it was fast. Howon realizes that he’s in the middle of the path, just as the car looms closer, hurtling fast.

He jumps to the side, tripping on his shoes at the surprise, and he ends up falling to his knees. Behind him, the driver honks the horn in angry cuts. Howon sits up, watching it disappear back to the path he had been walking, turning to a corner and the disappearing as the trees cut through Howon’s vision.

His heart is racing, hands sweaty and he knows that he cut his shin over some of the rocks but he doesn’t really think about the pain when he can still feel how close the car was to hitting him.

He stands up, dusting his shorts and he tries to catch a glimpse of the black car through the trees, but all he sees are trunks and the dark green of the leaves and some houses in the distance. The birds continue to chirp in their homes by the branches, and the wind picks up again.

Howon looks down at his left leg, sees the red nick just below his knee and he frowns, cursing his decision to wear shorts today. The wound wasn’t deep, mostly shallow and it wasn’t even bleeding. It was less of a wound and more of a scrape, and he fishes out his handkerchief from his back pocket, wiping the blood and dirt off his legs.

When he feels as if he looks a somewhat presentable now, Howon continues on his way, and he lets out a sigh of relief when the school building comes into sight. He can already see some of his classmates, sees some of the younger students playing in the small, makeshift futsal field and he spies Sungyeol, atop on one of the outdoor tables, chatting with some of their other classmates.

When he gets to the gate, Sungyeol catches his eye and raises a hand in wave. “Oi, Howon!”

He answers back, and his voice turns the head of some of the younger students. He laughs, as he’s soon enveloped in a pile of arms, all calling out ‘hyung’ and ‘teach us to play futsal, hyung’ and ‘how was your summer, hyung?’.

He kneels, smiling at them and patiently answers each of their questions. They were precious little people, who had been in Gon-jiam all their lives. To them, Howon — who had moved here when he was twelve — was a celebrity, someone new and cool and not from Gon-jiam. They liked to ask him about his hometown of Busan, if he had gone to Seoul, if he has a lot of houses and has a lot of servants.

Howon loves to chuckle at that, knowing how far they were from the truth, but he settles with playing along with them. He was an only child, and he never knew what it was like to have a brother, or a sister.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Sungyeol says in English as he draws near, making some of the kids giggle at his thick accent. “let Howon play with the grown-ups, huh? You can have him later.”

“Promise?” One of the younglings asked. Howon says yes before Sungyeol could answer, and he smirks at his friend’s scowling face.

They usher the kids back into the school, some playing chase with them to make them walk faster. By the door, their only teacher, Mr. Woohyun, smiles and greets each one of them a good morning.

“Eh, Howon, back in town, I see.” Is his greeting when Howon steps up. Gon-jiam is a little town, everyone knows everyone and that meant everyone’s business was everyone’s business. He’s gotten used to how it seemed like everyone knew what he did.

“Yup, our Howon has come back to grace us with his presence.” Sungyeol teases, an arm around Howon’s shoulder. Howon elbows him. He greets Mr. Woohyun a good morning, regardless.

It’s when they’re putting their bags in the wooden lockers that Mr. Woohyun approaches him.

“Howon, how are you?” He asks, and Howon turns to him.

“I’m good, Mr. Woohyun. What’s up?”

His teacher smiles at that, and he uncrosses his arms. “Straight to the point, as always. Anyway, Howon, I wanted to ask you a favour.”

Mr. Woohyun gestures to the hall and Howon nods as he follows the young teacher. They reach the hallway and Howon glances at the far left classroom, the one they were heading to. It was where the youngest students were placed together. Howon usually took them for Mr. Woohyun during the afternoons, while Sungyeol was in the other classroom.

When they enter, some of the kids turn and smile at Howon, waving hands. He smiles back, standing just outside as he waits for whatever it is his teacher wants him to do.

He watches Mr. Woohyun walk to the far back, and it’s when Howon notices the boy in the very corner of the room. He was small, probably around eight or nine, with a thick mop of dark hair. He had his face turned to the window, his hands holding a small notebook over his shorts. His teacher stands next to him and the boy turns his head to look at the other person. Mr. Woohyun says something, probably a name and he glances at Howon for a moment before turning back to the kid. The boy, who noticed his teacher’s slight glance, also looked at Howon.

He was a little too far to make out the details, but the kid did look really young.

“Hey, Jiyong—“ one of the students who sat nearest the door turned to him. “who’s that?”

Jiyong follows his gaze and watches the boy stand from his seat, following Mr. Woohyun who was making his way back to the door. “His name is Myungsoo.”

Howon nods, then straightens up as Mr. Woohyun smiles at him.

“Howon, I’d like you to meet Myungsoo, our newest student.”

He looks at the boy, and sees dark eyes look back at him underneath a thick fringe. He extends a hand. “Hey, Myungsoo. Nice to meet you. I’m Howon.”

Myungsoo continues to look at him, and he’s struck with how intense his gaze is. He was a small thing, and cute, Howon might add, and he knows the moment he laid his eyes that Myungsoo was a quiet child.

“Hello. Nice to meet you.”

A small warm hand grasps his, and he shakes it lightly before Myungsoo pulls it back, looking away from Howon and resting his gaze on his shoes.

His teacher instructs for Myungsoo to return to his seat, and they both watch Myungsoo slowly walk back, still holding tightly to the notebook with his hand. When he returns to his chair, his closest seatmate — Sunji — says hello with a smile. Myungsoo looks at her, for a moment, and nods in silence.

∞

“As you can see,” Mr. Woohyun says to him, in the privacy of the hallway. “he’s a very quiet child. He moved here last week from Seoul.”

“Seoul, really? He doesn’t look like a city boy.” Howon says, realizing his words a little too late after. Lucky for him, Mr. Woohyun simply smiled and didn’t mind his careless words.

“He really doesn’t. When Mrs. Kim told me that her grandson will be studying here, I expected different.”

Howon frowns.  “Mrs. Kim, as in, the bakery owner? She’s his grandmother?”

His teacher nods. “Yes. Myungsoo’s living with her.”

“What about his parents?”

It was like Howon had dropped a foul object into the hall, as Mr. Woohyun straightens up and sharply looks to the classroom door. The kids were still in their seats, although a little noisy in their chatter without a teacher in the room to shush them, but still somewhat orderly. “Mr. Nam?”

Mr. Woohyun sighs, and his voice is lower when he speaks again. “Look, I’m not supposed to tell you this but…let’s just say that Myungsoo’s parents shouldn’t be brought up around the boy, okay?”

“I don’t understand.” He responds, confused.

His teacher glances at the door again before turning back to Howon. “I can’t tell you everything, but even then, please keep what I’m about to say to yourself, Howon. We don’t need the entire town gossiping over Myungsoo, okay. Promise me.”

“Yes, sir. I promise.” He says, lowering his voice as well and stepping closer to his teacher.

“The week before last, Myungsoo’s mother died. Apparently, it was domestic abuse. His father, well, his father’s the main suspect but he’s gone missing since then. The police are still tracking him, but they haven’t any leads. From what they’ve told Mrs. Kim, Myungsoo was a witness to it. For his protection, social welfare had him live here with his grandmother.”

Howon takes in his teacher’s words, stunned, and Myungsoo’s intense eyes start to make sense. “But, sir, is he safe here?”

“I know what you mean, but Mrs. Kim wanted him here, as she’s the only family Myungsoo had left, outside his missing father. The police thought that same, so they had an officer dispatched here. He’ll be fetching Myungsoo from school every day, so don’t get surprised to see him later.”

Howon nods, but a question was still waiting on his tongue. “I promise not to tell anyone, sir, but…what does this have to do with me?”

His teacher shares a look with him before glancing back to the door. “Here’s the thing, Howon. You’re good with kids. In fact, you’re amazing with them — which is why I want you to be Myungsoo’s study partner.”

“Sir, I understand, but what about the other students? Will I still have to teach them, too?”

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll be talking to some of the older boys about it and see if I can make some arrangements — but only if you accept, Howon. You’ve seen him. He needs a friend, and I think there’s no one better here than you.”

He’s taking in the words, all the while holding back the urge to walk to the classroom door and look at Myungsoo. What happened to the kid was sad, heartbreakingly sad and horrible, and the thought of it running through his mind every time he’ll see Myungsoo is a little daunting, but he’s never been able to say no to anyone in need of help. Myungsoo, just now, looked like he needed it most.

Howon nods.

∞

When the afternoon comes, Mr. Woohyun pops into the room and calls out the students who were in charge of study hall with their younger schoolmates. When Mr. Woohyun finishes without calling his name, Sungyeol turns around in his seat and stares at Howon.

“Why didn’t you get study hall?” He asks, suspicious. Sungyeol never really liked study hall, said that it was torture for him to sit through hours with the younger students and try to make them understand basic mathematics.

“I’m partnered with someone.”

“Who?” Suspicion. Howon frowns.

“I’m with Myungsoo. Mr. Woohyun thought that I should be tutoring him.”

Sungyeol’s eyes widen. “The new kid? Seriously? He creeps me out. He’s always staring.”

Howon reaches out a hand to smack Sungyeol over the head. “Shut up. He’s cute, and he’s a lot cleaner than you so you can it.”

“Ow. Jerk. Anyway, how long are you tutoring him anyway? I wanted to eat something at Hyu-woo.”

Hyu-woo was the closest town to Gon-jiam, and unlike Gon-jiam’s mountain charm, Hyu-woo had an urban feel with its many restaurants and an arcade center. There was also a cinema, even though it was just one, but it was a lot more city-like than the sleepy town of Gon-jiam and her blue river and green forests. Usually, his mother and him would hitch a ride with Mr. Lee for their weekend groceries, but Sungyeol and Howon liked to walk the thirty-minute route to Hyu-woo. The road wasn’t dangerous, as there were houses here and there, but it can get a little creepy at sundown, with nothing but the darkness and crying cicadas to accompany the late-night visitors.

“Just probably until four. Someone will be picking him up, so I guess we can grab something. Anyway, see you later.”

Sungyeol’s whoop of joy is ignored as Howon stands up, grabbing his bag and glancing at the clock, makes his way to the other classroom. His entrance is marked with screams of joy from the kids and he raises a hand to his lips in a gesture of silence, walking to the boy seated at the corner of the room.

Myungsoo looks up at him when he stands close.

“Hey.” He starts. Myungsoo looks at him, for a moment, before he answers with a quiet hello.

Some of the kids are looking at them in open curiousity, as well as the substitute, who was one of his classmates. A little unnerved at their attention, he turns back to Myungsoo and gives him a wide smile. “You want to go outside?”

A beat of silence, then a hesitant nod has Howon guiding Myungsoo to one of the outdoor tables. He gives the departing Mr. Woohyun a wave as they settle on the one closest to the porch. Outside, the sky was just beginning to darken to a warm amber hue and the cicadas were starting their dusk dance.

“What’s that?” is Myungsoo’s first question, upon hearing the cicadas.

There’s a pattern to the crying, it was like a wave that went up and down, increasing and decreasing in volume. The first time Howon had heard it, it took him forever to fall asleep, agitated at how annoying the noise was. It was like a lullaby now, and it was calming to hear them cry — a permanent fixture of the Gon-jiam afternoon.

“Cicadas.” Howon answers.

Myungsoo blinks, before repeating the word in his low, boyish voice.

When Howon started their study session, he expected for Myungsoo to be like the other kids, in need of help with the more technical subjects like math and science. He was a little surprised to note that Myungsoo was quite intelligent for his age. Reviewing his well-taken notes, and the neat handwriting, Howon realized that there wasn’t really much he could do for study session.

So, he ended up talking to Myungsoo about a lot of different things, trying to coax a response from the kid.

“Mr. Woohyun told me you’re from Seoul,” at Myungsoo’s nod, Howon continues. “I’ve never been to Seoul. How different is Gon-jiam?”

Myungsoo is quiet, as his usual, and he often looks to the trees beyond the school grounds before answering Howon’s gently-prodded questions. “Seoul is cold.”

A brow is raised. “Really? And here I thought Gon-jiam was cold.”

The kid shakes his head at that, sharing a dark-eyed glance for a second. “It’s warm here. It’s nice.”

“Oh yeah?”

A nod. “It was always cold at home.”

I bet, Howon thinks, but he doesn’t touch upon the subject of Myungsoo’s home. While he didn’t know the complete details he knew that talking about it might not be the best course of action, considering how recent it just happened and — who knows? What if Myungsoo’s silence wasn’t really his usual personality? What if it was because of what happened?

Not liking the road this thoughts were going — and ignoring the random thought of Sungyeol’s jabs at his seriousness — Howon shifts the conversation to a different tangent. “Hey, do you like to watch cartoons?”

Myungsoo is hesitant at first, his lips in a pout and his hands playing with the flap of the notebook. “I—I like Eto Rangers.”

“Really? I like that too!” Then realizing what his words implied, Howon splutters. “well, I—I liked them when I was a kid, okay. I don’t watch cartoons anymore, I’m thirteen.”

At his rapidly-heating face, Myungsoo ducks and Howon frowns, unsure if what he said had upset the boy. It wasn’t until he heard a quiet giggling that he realized Myungsoo was laughing.

“Hey, hey, who said you can laugh at me?” Howon asks, petulantly. He realizes the way he sounds, but he prods on anyway. It seemed to bring out a reaction in the boy, and it certainly did wonders for him to smile like that.

Myungsoo continues to giggle, and it’s quiet but his lips are quirked up and his eyes are shining. Unable to help himself, especially around kids, Howon reaches a hand and ruffles Myungsoo’s thick hair, messing it up more than it already is.

“S—stop it,” Myungsoo says, still smiling as he reaches with small hands to shield his hair.

“Nope. This is what you get for laughing at me.”

“Howon-ssi!” Myungsoo says, pushing at his hand. Howon grins at the kid’s lisp.

“Howon-ssi?” He repeats. “Howon-ssi? You’re so cute, you know. Call me ‘hyung’.”

The rest of study hall is spent as Howon tries to coax out more laughter from the kid, suddenly smitten with Myungsoo’s little quirks. It’s different with Myungsoo, his attachment to him. With Myungsoo, Howon feels like there’s a bond forged between them, somehow, even though they’ve just met. He doesn’t have siblings, but he thinks that if he had a little brother, it would feel like this.

It’s when a man approaches them that Howon turns his head from Myungsoo to the stranger. He’s older than Howon that much is obvious, and he’s dressed in casual clothes, but Howon can see that it was the police officer as he spies the radio strapped to the man’s belt.

“Can I help you?” Howon asks, never too cautious.

“Yes, you can. I’m officer Jang Dongwoo from the Hyu-Woo police department. You’re Lee Howon, yes?” The man, officer Jang, asks, flashing his badge and I.D.

Howon nods, glancing at Myungsoo, who was back to his quiet self, now toying with his pencil. “That’s me. I guess, it’s time for you to go home, Myungsoo.”

He looks back to the kid, and Myungsoo nods, standing up from his seat. He watches the boy go into the building, and trails his gaze on the officer as the man follows suit. When Myungsoo emerges, he’s wearing his backpack and the officer is walking right behind him.

Myungsoo pauses as he stands in front of Howon, and Howon reaches out to ruffle his hair one more time. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, huh?”

Myungsoo nods.

Howon grins. “Okay, then. Bye Myungsoo.”

“Bye, Howon-ssi.”

“What did I tell you?” Howon asks, good-naturedly, crossing his arms over his chest. He sees Myungsoo’s lips quirk.

“Bye, hyung.”

“Good boy.”

He gives them one last wave, still following the figure of Myungsoo and the officer, and he sees a car parked right outside. The officer opens the back door, and patiently waits for Myungsoo to climb in. Closing it right after, Howon smiles as Myungsoo turns to look at him through the window before the car shakes for a moment and then drives off.

The afternoon sun paints the sky a dark orange, and the cicadas cry. Things were going to become a lot interesting from here on out, Howon surmises. He then returns to the building, deciding to hurry before Sungyeol comes back to drag him away.

III: 여름, 외침

Two weeks pass since that day.

Myungsoo’s become a lot more animated since then. He’s still quiet around other people, perhaps still shy, but he smiles more when he’s around Howon. He laughs more when he’s around Howon. One afternoon, Mrs. Kim came by to fetch him with officer Jang, and the old baker hugs him in gratitude at taking care of her grandson.

“You’ve done so much for us, making him smile like that.” She says. “You’re the only thing he talks about. ‘Hyung did this’, ‘hyung said that’. He adores you.”

Feeling his cheeks redden, Howon rubs the back of his neck as he spies Myungsoo looking at them in interest from the backseat of the car. “It’s the least I could do, Mrs. Kim, after…well, after what happened.”

At the subtle touch on Myungsoo’s parents, Mrs. Kim’s smile fades to a small frown as she nods in agreement with his words. “Such a horrible thing, for a child to witness that. I never knew my son’s wife could do that.”

With her words, Howon frowns. “I’m sorry?”

Mrs. Kim didn’t seem to hear him, still holding on to his hand as she gazes unseeingly to the horizon. “Such a sad thing, suicide. Horrible, horrible.”

“Suicide?” Howon asks, confused. He remembered Mr. Woohyun telling him that Myungsoo’s mother died because of abuse, but he never really got into the details. Maybe she did kill herself…regardless, he wasn’t open to the details. It was a morbid affair, not one he liked to think about if he could help it.

“Horrible woman,” Mrs. Kim continues, and Howon starts to notice how her voice had started to grow cold and her hold on his hand tightened. “Horrible woman. She had no taste, killing herself after almost murdering her child.”

Wait, what?

“Mrs. Kim?” Howon began, confused and unnerved at Mrs. Kim’s grip, and her still unseeing eyes. He glances at the car, and sees Myungsoo looking back, still starting in curiousity. Officer Jang was also looking at them, but turned back to the windshield after a moment.

“Murderer. Witch. Demon.” Mrs. Kim started growling, and her voice had turned from cold to downright hateful. Howon started losing sensation at how tight her grip was.

Myungsoo was still staring. Frowning.

“Mrs. Kim!” Howon’s shout made the old woman jump, and she releases his hands, finally looking at him. She frowns, the wrinkles on her brows tightening.

“Is something wrong, Howon?” She asks, back in her usual calm voice.

“No, nothing’s wrong.” Howon manages to get out, realizing he’s breathing hard. He wipes his hands on his pants and he sees Myungsoo looking away. “I—I should go.”

“Oh, if you’re sure. Thank you again, Howon.” With a gentle smile that contradicted her harsh words before, Mrs. Kim turns back to the car.

He’s rooted to his spot, watching it drive off to Myungsoo’s home, still watching even as it disappeared over the road. It’s not until Sungyeol sliding up next to him that he breaks out of his reverie.

“Yo, you okay?” Sungyeol asks, backpack slung over one shoulder.

Howon turns to him, not really comprehending the question but manages to make some sort of response as Sungyeol nods.

He’s never heard Mrs. Kim sound like that before. She’s always been so gentle and kind with her words, and whenever he dropped by the bakery, she never had anything bad or negative to say about anyone.

But today had been different. She had sounded different.

She sounded so angry and hateful and her voice changed to a growling kind that Howon had never heard before. It was like Mrs. Kim had turned into a different person, there was nothing in her unseeing gaze or in her almost-bared lips that spoke of the smiling bakery owner that gave out free tarts from time to time.

“Were you seeing the kid off? Sometimes, you act like his brother.” Sungyeol mutters, still standing next to him and Howon concentrates on his voice, letting his thoughts meld back into the background for the moment.

They start walking out of the school grounds, Sungyeol’s shoulders occasionally digging into his but he doesn’t really mind — he’s still hearing those angry words in short, loud bursts in his head.

“I don’t feel right about that kid.” Sungyeol says, and it’s enough to make Howon turn to look at him.

“What are you talking about?”

“Your kid, Myungsoo or whatever his name is. I don’t like him.”

A frown coming down his lips as Howon recalls the quiet student. “Why do you dislike him? He never bothers anyone.”

Sungyeol sighs. “It’s not that I dislike him, it’s just I don’t like him. Get it? I don’t know how to explain this, but there’s something weird about him. He’s just too quiet, and he stares. A lot.”

Howon shrugs. “He’s shy.”

“There’s being shy, and there’s also being too quiet. I dunno, man. Maybe it’s just I don’t like kids in general, or whatever.” With that, Sungyeol pulls out a cigarette from his pocket, Howon staring at how bunched up it looked.

While Sungyeol lights up the stick, Howon comments. “Are you smoking or are you just showing off?”

“.” Sungyeol mutters, bumping him.

Howon wants to remind him that they’re just teens, just on the edge of becoming fourteen and smoking was bad for them, but he doesn’t. He knows Sungyeol will just roll his eyes and puff smoke into his face just for the heck of it. Still, Howon doesn’t hide the curl of his lips as the thick, heady nicotine scent hits his nostrils.

When they reach a turn over the footpath, Sungyeol dumps his bag by the large boulder sitting next to the side of the road and leans against it. Howon rests one foot over it, hands in his pocket, content to just let Sungyeol yammer on and on about whatever it is that’s had him occupied.

“—so I paged her and she said her parents were out on Friday. Guess who’s getting lucky this weekend?” Sungyeol says, turning to see an obviouslynot listening Howon humming to himself.

Just like what he had expected, Sungyeol puffs cigarette smoke in his face at his thoughtful absence and he coughs a little as he breathes the smoke too deep. “What the hell was that for?”

“For not listening to me, obviously.” Sungyeol coolly responds, even though a snicker is waiting to burst from his lips as Howon glares at him, fanning the air in front of his face. His friend leans back on the boulder and continues his story and Howon now takes the time to actually listen, a little wary with being bombarded by cigarette smoke again.

Sungyeol reaches a point in his somewhat erted train of discussion when he stops, and Howon, upon noticing, looks at him. Sungyeol isn’t looking at him, and his cigarette is half-way into his mouth, almost burnt out at this point but he’s not paying any mind to the ash staining his shirt.

“Sungyeol? You okay?” Howon asks.

Sungyeol is frozen stiff, and Howon follows his gaze. All he sees is grassy plains and the forest beyond, silhouette of the Sobaek mountain range in the distance. Afternoon started to turn to dusk, and the amber sky was beginning to darken into purple overhead. The wind was picking up, the stalks swaying eastward with the breeze, and Howon hears the crinkle of fallen leaves rushing past. He feels weird, though. As if something’s missing. He can’t put his finger on it, but he feels that there should be something there, something that shouldn’t be missing.

Sungyeol continues to stare, and Howon follows his gaze to the slowly creeping darkness in the forest. There was nothing there, nothing that could have Sungyeol engrossed like that.

“Hey, Sungyeol?”

No response, his friend continues to stare.

Howon turned to look at his friend, and that’s when he feel it.

He doesn’t hear anything, he doesn’t even smell anything save for the afternoon dryness of the leaves but he feels like there’s something staring at him. Someone, something was staring at him.

It had the hair on the back of his neck standing on end; his muscles tight.

Slowly, he turns his head to the source of that feeling, and he realizes he’s looking at where Sungyeol is looking. There’s nothing, there really isnothing but why does it feel like there’s something?

Why does it feel like there’s something out there?

He doesn’t know if it’s an animal or maybe another person but something is definitely out there — and if the sudden tightening of his gut, or the pounding of his heart in his head were any indication, it wasn’t a nice something.

The wind blows, suddenly strong, and the stalks aren’t swaying eastward anymore. They’re swaying all over the place, noisy and out of control. He couldn’t hear anything over the swishswashswishswash of the stalks.

Then, as fast as it had come, it was gone and the stalks returned to its resting position — just in time as Sungyeol turns to him, and says in a quiet voice. “I think we should go now.”

He wants to ask him what he was looking at, ask him what was out there that had him staring, but Howon notices that the feeling of being stared at is gone and suddenly the fields felt a lot less malevolent. He settles with silence and a nod and doesn’t ask why Sungyeol is so quiet, or why he started walking a lot faster, faster than his usual laidback gait. Howon doesn’t ask because he also walks fast, wanting to get home quick as the darkness started to creep over the shadows of the setting sun.

It’s when he sees Sungyeol’s house in the distance that he breathes in relief. Sungyeol lived a block away from him, and he can already see the roof of his own house jutting out behind the façade of his friend’s house.

When they reach Sungyeol’s gate, Howon turns to say goodbye to him but Sungyeol has a hand holding on to the gate, his gaze turned to the path they had come from. Where they had been a few minutes ago.

“H—hey, you alright?” Howon asks, concerned. Wondering if Sungyeol was thinking the same thing he was, about what was out there in the field.

His words seemed to break Sungyeol’s reverie, as his friend turns to him and he gives a smile — although it seemed a little forced. “Yeah, I’m good. I’ll see you tomorrow, kay?”

“Okay.” Howon answers, not wanting to press the issue. He also wants to go home, too.

Sungyeol gives him a bracing smile before he opens the gate and steps in, shutting it close. Howon stays for a moment, watching his friend’s back and seeing him wave in goodbye before entering his house. Sungyeol’s parents were out of town — something about work in Daejeon. Sungyeol had said that they would be coming in tomorrow morning. His friend was alone in his house for tonight.

Something about it didn’t sit well with Howon, but he shakes his head at himself and heads to his own house. He tells himself that Sungyeol, left to his own devices, usually meant disaster.

It’s later, with his hand on the gate, that he realizes that the cicadas hadn’t cried.

∞

He lays on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. Howon doesn’t have to turn to see that it was pretty late already, maybe past midnight. The room is dark, moonlight seeping through the curtains and the wind lightly thumping against the glass window. The air is cold, surprisingly more so than usual.

He couldn’t sleep.

He couldn’t.

The cicadas weren’t crying.

He sits up on his bed, the blanket pooling over his legs. He can’t shut his mind, let it sleep. The cicadas weren’t crying. It was unusual, too unusual. The cicadas had never stopped crying before.

They always cried.

Every night.

Every night.

Every night.

Outside, the wind continued to thump against the glass window and Howon watches the shadow of the nearby tree branches play on his curtains. The shadows were moving, the branches dancing with the wind, and he stares at the way the shadows move — it was like a hand, calling for someone, beckoning someone to come close.

Left to right.

Left to right.

A creak has him jumping slightly, and Howon realizes that he had sat up, one hand braced on the bed and he was half-way to getting up. He didn’t even know he was getting up.

He sits back down, not moving back to the bed’s headrest, but his gaze is on the shadows of the tree branches on his floor. They were moving. Left to right to left to right to left to right to left to right.

Curious, he gets up. Quietly. With how silent the entire house is, he’s afraid moving would make too much noise and wake his mother. But when he rests a foot on the wooden floor, it only gives a slight creak at the added pressure before quieting again.

He slowly puts his other feet down, cringes at the noise and slowly stands up, one hand braced on the wall for balance. He knows he’s acting a little ridiculous, but for some reason, he wants to be quiet.

He wants to be unheard.

For some reason he feels that something out there is trying to find him, trying to hear him.

Another creak has his heart pounding as he realizes it’s not from him, or from his room. It was from outside…from beyond his window.

The shadows continue to dance, and the wind continues to thump but he doesn’t hear the creak anymore. He wills his heart to slow down, to stop beating so fast and for his hands to stop sweating.

He counts in his head, counts from one to ten and ten to one and when he feels like he can breathe again.

Before he could psych himself out, Howon closes the distance and — muscles tense — draws the curtain open.

He has half a mind to scream, but all he sees are the branches of the Mr. Lee’s trees. They’re dancing, swaying in the wind, slightly tapping the wall next to his window. He sighs in relief, finding it funny how he was terrified over nothing.

He’s about to close the curtains when he notices the pale light coming from one of the house — Sungyeol’s. He frowns. The house was dark, but one window had light, dulled by a drawn curtain. It was Sungyeol’s window, in his bedroom.

What was his friend awake for?

When he turns to his desk, he sees 01:31 AM flashing on the digital screen in red digits. He turns back to the window, and spies the light.

Sungyeol was probably up, talking with his sort-of girlfriend again. Or maybe he was watching television…or reading, which was highly unlikely. Whatever it is, Sungyeol definitely was awake. His friend couldn’t sleep with the light on; he’s been to too many sleepovers to not know that.

He grabs his pager sitting next to the clock, and he returns to the window, leaning against the wall and staring at the light of Sungyeol’s window.

Having fun, are we?

He types out the message, squinting in the moonlight as he makes out the words on the screen. He presses the send button and stares at the window, waiting for a response. He expects Sungyeol to open his window and glare at him, or respond through text.

The pager shakes in his hand, just as the light in Sungyeol’s room shuts off. Howon frowns, staring at the now completely dark house — why did Sungyeol turn off the light all of a sudden.

Curious, Howon brings the screen of his pager under the moonlight and catches a one-word response.

Yes.

Unsure of how to respond, Howon frowns once more at the window and draws the curtain shut. He puts the pager back on its desk and he climbs back into bed, deciding that he’ll ask Sungyeol about it tomorrow instead. For some reason, that little exchange has him relaxed enough to get him sleepy.

He’s just about laid back on his bed when he feels exhaustion pull at him and his eyes close shut, his mind descending into dreamless slumber,01:31 AM flashing in red digits.

∞

There’s noise, a racket that has him waking up. Early dawn sunlight pours into the window, and Howon sits up and stretches, frowning as he hears shouting from outside. Someone is shouting, someone is crying and there’s a lot of other voices — like there’s a crowd outside.

Confused, Howon gets up and almost trips on the blanket, a hand braced on the table next to his bed. The clock catches his eyes and he frowns as01:31 AM meets his gaze. He presses the power button of the clock, and watches the screen turn dark before he presses it again — wondering if it was broken, as 01:31 AM continues to flash at him in red digits.

Minding it for later, Howon goes to the window and pulls the curtain, looking out.

There is a crowd of people, and he recognizes most of them — his neighbours, he can even see Mr. Sunggyu, standing taller than most of the crowd. They’re all surrounding a house, and with a jolt he sees that it’s Sungyeol’s house.

He tiptoes, not thinking that it was pointless as he still didn’t get to see what they were all crowding around for. It’s not until the crowd parts and an ambulance comes into view that has him seizing up, chest tight.

He doesn’t even notice that he’s barefoot when he’s barreling out of the front door of his house, uncaring as his feet meets moist grass, made dewy in the morning air.

Now that he’s outside, he hears it. He hears screaming and crying.

He can’t make out the words, but one name sticks out and he feels like something heavy just clubbed him.

Sungyeol.

Sungyeol.

Sungyeol.

Sungyeol.

Sungyeol.

He’s gasping, hands clutching at his chest, seeing only the backs of the crowd as he’s rooted in place, the racket of too many voices echoing in his head.

Why? Sungyeol — why?!

He’s clawing at his chest, wanting the tightness to go away. He feels stone cut into his bare feet but he can’t feel the pain over the echoing shouts in his brain, the heaviness that settled over his lungs and the desperate need to breathe.

 Why? Why did you do this?!

It takes him a moment to realize that it’s not his thoughts that are screaming — that it’s someone else— a female voice, delirious with pain and heartbreak. Someone is screaming. Why are they screaming?

Why are they screaming Sungyeol’s name?

The mutterings of the crowd reaches his ears and his hands stop clawing at his chest. Suicide? What about suicide? What does suicide have to do with Sungyeol?

Why is everyone out?

Why is everyone screaming?

Why is everything noisy?

When he feels arms wrap around him, Howon gasps — reality crashing down as he’s pulled from his thoughts. He feels arms hold him tight and he realizes it’s his mother and she’s apologizing and apologizing and he feels wet warmth on his shoulder and—

Mother is crying.

Why is she crying?

“I’m sorry, honey. I’m so sorry.”

Howon doesn’t understand.

The crowd shifts, and he breaks through his mother’s grasp, hears her shout and he pushes through the crowd. He shoulders past someone, notices it’s Sungjong and the older man is looking at him with wet eyes. Howon pushes someone out of the way, there’s a cry of surprise and a call of his name but he doesn’t notice. He’s pushing and pushing until he sees white and breathes air.

There’s an ambulance.

Sungyeol’s mother is crying, on her knees, hands on her face. Sungyeol’s father is still beside her, he’s not moving. He doesn’t even look like he’s breathing, save for how pale he’s become and there’s a police officer holding him steady, grasping him tight.

Then Howon sees it, sees a gurney being pulled out of the front door and there’s a black bag over it but he knows. There’s a body there.

There’s a body under there.

The paramedic pulls the gurney out, loads it into the ambulance and Howon watches, not breathing — his entire system frozen — as the gurney shakes and the bag sifts and he sees his bestfriend’s face.