I stared at my phone's cracked screen with my mouth gaping. If someone would bother looking at my way, they might think I was just a random bored college student who has no life. Or they might say I was a calm dude in spite of the chaotic environment. But, unfortunately, I am not. Certainly not. Underneath my cheap yet fake brown fur coat, my heart was blazing with fire. To describe my emotion right now as anger would be an understatement.

 

I missed my high school reunion.

 

Park Chanyeol, one of my best buddies back then before I morphed into a hermit, called me a month ago. He told me the students of Gyeonggi Science Highschool Batch 2013 will be having a gathering on the thirteeth. That's what I heard. After Chanyeol said the date, I stopped listening to him and started making up imaginary scenarios that probably won't happen. You know why? Because Fate's a complete jerk. He loves torturing his petty humans under his thumb.

 

I was giddy at the thought of not just meeting my high school friends once again yet what I was really looking forward to the most was meeting Yoo Eunyoung, the infamous risk-taker of Suwon. It was rumoured she cut her wavy waist-length hair into a pixie one. 

 

Bizarrely, I wasn't surprised when the news reached me. It was another brave example of Eunyoung's rebellion against stereotypical gender standards. She must have wanted to prove those people around her wrong when they said only boys can pull off a short hair.

 

You see, she is a strong woman. She stands up high to represent those trampled due to generalizations. She speaks for those who are muted by the so-called standards of the society. That's why I decided she'll be worthy of holding the title of being my first love. She was beautiful, in her own way, yet it was her personality that got me head over heels for her.

 

Since I talk so fondly of her, you'd probably assume we were close. I'd give you the answer right away, but I want you to read it as if it was heavily coated with sarcasm. 

 

Yes, we were close.

 

I tried, though. The number of failed attempts I did just to catch Eunyoung's attention has become overwhelming. She was the famous fellow while I, on the other hand, was the quirky introvert. We were the perfect definition of polar opposites. I don't know why people love to pair up people with opposing personalities together. Opposites attract? Ha ha ha. Then will somebody explain to me the unlucky phenomena of me not getting Eunyoung as my girlfriend?

 

Don't be a know-it-all with me by pointing out to me that if I'm that curious to see her new look, I could have just checked her social accounts because I already did, only to find out she has deactivated all of her social accounts. Not to sound creepy, but I do follow all her accounts on the internet. I am definitely not a stalker. I am a fan.

 

Now, back to my explanation of my situation... and possible rant explosions. 

 

As soon as the university bells rang to signal the end of the day, I sprinted my way towards the train station to catch the scheduled trip to Gyeongi. During the one-and-a-half hour time I was in the train, I managed to take a nap to replenish the energy I lost due to the horrifying test I took earlier, control my hair so it would follow my desire, and prepare a speech in case I bump into Eunyoung.

 

The party was set at seven yet when I went inside the agreed bar, no one else was around except for a group of scary men who dressed and acted like they were part of the mafia. I should have been having double thoughts back then. It seemed odd to be the early bird when in fact, I was already forty-five minutes late.

 

I waited for another two hours. When the clock struck nine, I decided to roam around the bar, thinking they might have a special hideout and such. I had circumnavigated the small liquor store several times, yet I never found a single face I recognized. Then I finally had the common sense to inquire with Chanyeol as to why no one was showing up.

 

And, lo and behold, I found out the biggest plot twist of the year. 

 

For God's sake, the date wasn't at the thirtieth; it was on the thirteenth! Chanyeol told me they were also wondering as to why I wasn't around, yet they did not contact me for they thought I was busy. He also admitted Eunyoung's rumors to be true. She even dyed it blonde. Chanyeol found my circumstance a laughing stock. I needed to hang up on him without asking for his permission because it was the only way he'd stop laughing.

 

As if it wasn't enough, fate decided to mess with my life again. 

 

I looked outside through the transparent glass of the bar. The snow outside would have made me nostalgic of the days where I used to build snow globes during Christmas Eve. It still does, aside from this night where snow falling frequently from the sky equals an impending doom. Right on cue, the weather forecaster announced all roads on the Northern province will be temporarily closed to avoid further incidents.

 

So here I am, sitting at the bartender's table. Alone, cold and nowhere to go. The whiskey I ordered was untouched. I don't even drink, but I had to order so I won't be kicked out of here. My phone vibrated, telling me I only have three percents left.

 

Guess who's the unlucky guy of the day?

 

An old man sits next to me. My initial instinct was to get annoyed. Of all the empty chairs, why sit next to me? Is this his way of showing me his life was a lot more exciting than mine? I know I'm getting illogical. No way in hell would he be able to discern my dejected life- except if he's Fate who came to take revenge on me after I've badmouthed him. 

 

The night was still young, but he was already drunk. He seemed rich, judging from the tattered all-black suit he was wearing. I was about to scoot to another chair discreetly when the old man spoke.

 

"How are the kids?"

 

I continued to scrape my off the seat. The old man must be drunk-talking. Is drunk-talking a word? Besides, I don't need to bother myself from other people's business. My life was troublesome enough.

 

"Long time no see, my beloved friend," he kept on saying. "Finally we've met. I wanted to tell you the truth. The truth. Nothing but the truth."

 

Okay. I told you. He was drunk-talking. I took a sip from my liquor, my face distorting from the bitter taste. I was about to dismiss the old man as a mere lunatic when he suddenly said something that caught my attention.

 

"My old friend. My beloved. My bestfriend. Kim. Jong. Dae." He uttered my father's name in between his hiccups. "Why are you getting away? Are you leaving me again?"

 

He looked up, and I finally saw his appearance. Your typical Asian male. He had an oval face with a defined, slightly pointed chin and a sturdy jawline. His jet-black eyes were upturned, sitting below unkept eyebrows that seemed to curve as a natural extension of his pointed broad nose. His full lips, however were chapped and seemed bruised. The only distinct asset he has was his scraggly beard and his greying greasy hair that looked like as though he has not washed them for several days. He looked the same age as my father. Early fifties.

 

"Come here." He put an arm around me, drawing me closer to him. "I want- need, rather- to tell you the truth."

 

"Who are you? How did you know my father?," I asked, dumbfounded.

 

"I've kept this secret with myself for so long, my heart has become heavy. I have always wanted to tell you this, but I never saw you again. Where have you been?," he asked, still caught up with the idea of me being my father.

 

"I'm sorry, but I am not who you think I am."

 

"I am not, either. I am-"

 

"No. No. That's not what I mean. Kim Jongdae, the name you called me earlier, is not me. You've mistaken me for my father."

 

He laughed. It sounded raspy. "I'm in no time for your pranks tonight, Jongdae. Wait, are you acting like this because you are mad at me?"

 

I slowly shook my head.

 

"You're saying you're not right now, but I'm pretty sure after you knew about the truth, you'll get mad at me." 

 

He tugged at the edge of my coat. I begged him to let me go, yet he won't. His grip tightened.

 

"Just... listen," he pleaded.

 

My phone vibrated. The screen indicated I have thirty seconds left before it shuts down. I gave a loud sigh, trying to compose myself. I mentally calculated my options. Which would be better: getting out of the bar and be free from this mysterious man but it'll be cold, or stay trapped in this foreign place and wait for a drunk man to bore me out? I drank the remaining whiskey in my glass in one large gulp, the alcohol stinging the back of my throat, and made a decision.

 

"Fine," I said, admitting defeat. "Tell me the truth."

 

His eyes lightened up from my statement. He tried to sit better, only to end up falling from his stool. His loud fall attracted attention. Everyone had their eyes on us. To tell them we were fine and I have the situation under control, I had to shout against the loud music.

 

I helped him return to his seat. As I did, I noticed he was slightly more skinny than the average person of his age. He was crouching, an invisible force wearing him down. Luckily though, he was not injured.

 

"Who are you?," I asked again.

 

He chuckled. "Don't you remember me? I'm the only bestfriend you have, and will ever have. How dare you forget me? Was I no one for you?" He looked mad. 

 

"It's me, Kim Jongin," he introduced himself.

 

I watched him order another bottle of wine.The beverage he chose must be expensive, seeing the young bartender double take upon hearing the name of the wine. Jongin got infuriated by the bartender's hesitation. He threatened him by saying he'll buy the bar once he's sober and kick out the judgemental bartender, all the while waving his black credit card in the air.

 

"Remember Señorita, the nickname I gave my childhood crush before?," Jongin asked, returning back to our conversation.

 

"No, I don't. I don't even know y-"

 

"Shhh." He hushed me by putting his two dirty fingers on my lips. "I told you: just listen. Don't talk."

 

I ordered another glass of whiskey to celebrate my upcoming bland night. I need not to worry about my bill later on because Jongin has already paid everything we'll order for the night using his luxurious credit card.

 

Jongin continued talking.

 

"I want you to recall her, because you seemed to have forgotten her. Forgotten. I kept on repeating those words like a mobius strip.

 

"Señorita was my first love. She was my friend ever since I was young. Her house was just a block away from ours. She did not come from a rich family, but she carried with her an air of classiness and eliteness. So I called her Senorita. When I reached the peak of my teenage year, I can't help but fall for her. Do you remember her now?"

 

I remained stoic faced, sarcastically following his order to be quiet. Jongin doesn't seem to notice this.

 

"Sadly, my father got promoted. Now, there's nothing wrong with getting promoted to a job you have loyally served, but my father getting promoted meant we'll need to transfer to the city. I'll be leaving my childhood sweetheart behind."

 

My prediction was accurate. Fate really was taunting me. How high are the odds of meeting an old version of me in a chilly November night? Probably a negative one percent. Yet our life was so much alike, feigning apathy was a difficult task. At some point of our lives, we both suffered the forlorn effect of unrequited love.

 

"On my last year as a high school student on the busy city called Seoul, we met. We became seatmates on my new school. You were such a socialite back then. You won't look at me because I was poor. You held your social status so dearly as if it was the most important thing in the world. How did we become friends, then?"

 

He seemed like he was thinking hard. But I doubt it. With the drunken state he's on, thinking straight would be hardwork. I reminisced the first time I got drunk. It was during our high school graduation celebration. I was so out of my mind I kept on blabbering things about aliens invading Pluto.

 

"It's not the test. We were already close that time. Was it during the gym class? No. I don't join gym-," he spoke, thinking out loud. "It was because of the food stuck between your teeth!"

 

"Your so called friends," he made air quotes with the word friends, "were torridly laughing at your appearance behind your back. I was the only one who was brave enough to point out something wrong. I even gave you toothpicks for it. And... That was the beginning of the friendship of the slave and the king. You dropped your elite class and started hanging out with me.

 

"Don't we use to ring the doorbells at the fancy houses of your fancy village back then then run? Man, those were the golden times. And also, that time when you ate triangle bimbimbap for the first time? You were such an ignorant little boy!

 

"College was a challenge for us. That rhymed." He chortled, amused at his own self. "You passed the screening for Seoul University. I did, too. Of course I will. I was a lot smarter than you. But then again, we were poor. The tuition was too expensive. We can't afford it on our own. I intended to stop studying and just work.

 

"Your dad- er, I mean late dad came up with an idea of making me your family scholar. When he called me over your house to talk matters, I was frightened! Oh boy, was he a big scary man. But when he spoke, he spoke so softly I thought it was a dwarf talking to me."

 

He broke down on a fit of laughter. My father does not like talking about my grandfather that much. From what I knew, they were in a great fight and Gramps swore on his death bed to never give Dad any of his wealth. He was lying, of course. Because after the funeral, Gramps' lawyer approached us, letting us know that Gramps has already secured our future, even my future child's future.

 

"He told me he was thankful it was me who became your friend. He thought I changed your life. He said to me, in that little voice of his," he paused, clearing his throat. 

 

"My son treats you as the brother he never had." The old man mimicked a high-pitched voice. "If my son treats you like a brother, we'll treat you like our very own son, too. You're our family now, and in families, no one gets ignored or forgotten." 

 

"You look bored," he said to me, temporarily stopping his story telling.

 

I gave off a triumphant smirk from his question. It was the only time he has noticed about me, and possibly the only time he'll regard me as me, and not as my father.

 

"I don't."

 

"You do."

 

"No, it's my regular poker face. Keep on talking."

 

Somehow, Kim Jongin's story sounded promising. He was a live and unscripted audiobook, and as a self-proclaimed bookworm, I cannot dare to leave the book without knowing its ending.

 

"You studied business, I studied computer programming. What age were we there?," he continued.

 

"Early twenties?," I said, unsure.

 

He looked like he was calculating in his mind, but he gave up easily.

 

"One day you approached me. Your face was so close from breaking because of that big grin plastered on your face. According to you, if my memory is still intact- because obviously I am drunk right now- you were about to check-out your book in the library when an ethereal being entered your peripheral vision. You described her as if she was a goddess walking down on earth. Soon, we'll find out her name was Jung Soojung."

 

My jaw literally dropped. I am almost convinced by now that this man is not a mere stranger. He might not know about me, but he knows a lot about my family. Much more than I do.

 

"But you're a chicken. I'm not gonna hold back anymore. You're the chicken-est of all the boys out there. You're an egg!" 

I kept my cool, giving him an easy smile. Although deep within me, I was fighting against the urge to hit him several times after hearing him insult my father right in front of me.

 

"You basically stalked her. You knew her address, her full name, her section and her class schedule. You even kept track of her library visits just to see her pretty face. I won't even be surprised if you also knew her blood type, or the size of her feet or- Geez, dude, you're creepy!" 

 

"Why did dad act that way?"

 

"Why you, the great Jongdae, ended up doing some extreme measures? Probably because you are in love! You loved her the very moment you saw her strut in the fiction section of the library.

 

"But like I said, you're the chicken-est of them all, so you didn't have the balls to go up to her and introduce yourself. You get it? You got the pun?"

 

He violently patted my back to force me to laugh at his lame joke.

 

"So, I had to go up there, being the very good bestfriend I am. I befriended Soojung. Once we became close, I put you up in the picture. Then, fast forward to heat things up, the two of you worked out! You liked her, and she liked you too.

 

"You planned to confess to her in the library, believing it was romantic. Do you know how troublesome it was to arrange a confession at a library? Of course you don't! Because it was me who worked hard on everything. You stupid bastard! You made me arrange your confession!"

 

Jongin pouted. I chimed in to his story telling. I already knew what would happen next. Mom used to tell me about it to put me to sleep when I was still young.

 

"Jongdae and Soojung's relationship lasted two years." Referring to my parents using their first names sounded weird. "After they have graduated college, they decided to marry right away. The wedding bore fruit two healthy boys."

 

"Correct. Correct." He was nodding his head vigorously. "Of course I was also there. We were each other's best man during each of our wedding."

 

"Who did you marry then?"

 

"You seem to be forgetful lately." He shot me a suspicious look. "I married Song Qian, the student librarian I badly asked out just to let you do your extemporaneous facade."

 

"So it worked out between the two of you then? I mean, Jongdae and you both lived happy lives."

 

I asked the bartender to pour me another drink.

 

"Yep."

 

"And?"

 

"And, what?"

 

"Where's the 'truth'? You told me you're going to confess it to me this evening."

 

Jongin smiled. But this time, his smile carried a hint of loneliness. He grabbed my newly refilled glass and jugged it down in one huge gulp. I realized he was thirsty but the thirst he had was not about water. He was thirsty of something only the abuse of liquor can erase.

 

I wondered how he become one.

 

"The truth?"

 

"Yes."

 

"One word."

 

"What is it?"

 

I edged myself closer to him, ignoring the offending stank of alcohol coming out of his mouth. I was thrilled to know about what he might tell me. 

 

His voice was barely an audible whisper when he said. "Señorita"

 

"What?"

 

A glimmer of light caught his face when the band started playing. I was appalled by his answer. A while ago when he was pleading for me to stay, the idea of what he might tell me seemed so mysterious. But to know that it was about his childhood friend felt disappointing. Maybe I was expecting for something more... confidential?

 

But I knew there was more when I saw his face. It was a mixture of bitterness, regret and pain.

 

"Jung Soojung." My mother's name sounded pretty when he said it. "She was senorita. My senorita."

 

At first I wanted to disclose his words. Time froze for me. The instant he said my mother's name with practiced care, I knew immediately what he meant. But still, I did not want to believe it. It sounded unreal, hearing someone tell you they loved your mom.

 

"I loved her." He finally let out the truth he has been constraining for God only knows how long. "I loved her first, and loved her more."

 

The loud bar was muted by his silence. There were still questions hanging under my head, but I kept my mouth shut. Seeing water form in his eyes was enough of an answer.

 

"The moment you pointed at her, even if she had her back on us, I knew immediately that it was her. I kept on hinting unto you about Senorita but you did not listen to me. You never do. I befriended her easily all because she already knew me. Do you know how painful it is, how much it hurt me, to arrange everything for your confession when I knew that it should be me asking for her heart? That it should be me telling her she's my world, and not you."

 

My heart hurt from seeing a broken man cry. I wanted to look away, but Jongin's gaze told me not to. I was torn. I was afflicted with how his eyes seemed so woeful staring straight at me, as if it was challenging me to see the pain I had inflicted on him.

 

"You never asked me how I felt. All you cared was having the girl. Didn't you read it in my face, that I was uncomfortable? That I was not fine? I thought that's how friendships were made, because I did it. I sacrificed my happiness for yours. I always made you the priority. But what did you do? You disowned me.

 

"You came up to me one night. You told me I was not your friend anymore and you don't want to see me again. What was the reason, Jongdae? Was I too much? Oh no, wait. I was the one who was supposed to disown you. You were the bad one. So, why did you turn me down? You're so unfair."

 

Tears were still rolling down his face. He started sobbing. Jongin put his hand over his mouth to stop himself from wailing. It was also him who broke the stare first. He took long deep breaths, attempting to calm himself.

After a moment, he began to talk.

 

"You know, my wife had her funeral today. She was diagnosed with lung cancer. She doesn't even smoke," he said gently. "I stayed with her during her last days. She told me she knew our feelings for each other will never be mutual. She knew I loved another woman, and our marriage was an ugly band-aid for the dirty mistake we've made. But she told me that when she said the words 'I do' during our wedding ceremony, she had already dismissed herself as Song Qian. Once she kneeled at the altar, she was Kim Qian.

 

"It pricked the deepest parts of me. There I was hurting over you. There I was, chasing for a star on my dreams, without realizing I already had the whole universe in my hands.

 

"I wept at Qian's tomb. I hated you for not giving a little consideration, without thinking I was being a hypocrite myself. I was the one who doesn't give others a little thought. I just kept on beating around the bush. You were never to be blamed about my misdoings. And meeting Qian wasn't a mistake."

 

He was crying loudly now. Openly. He was sobbing so hard he found it hard to speak. The words coming out of his mouth sounded gibberish. I stood up to grab tissues for him.

 

"Kim Jongdae, my friend," Jongin said, holding out to my hand.

 

"I'm sorry." He said with utmost sincerity.

 

Then it dawned on me. This is the truth he was talking about. This was the reason why he was so eager to talk to some stranger just to release the pent up emotions he had that tortured him for years. Senorita, his childhood crush and my mother, was an excuse.

 

Acceptance.

 

Acceptance, I realize, is the truth. 

 

Jongin longed for acceptance. Acceptance, the art of letting go. He wanted to accept the fact that no one was at fault. It was not my father's fault for not seeing the mask he put up, and it was neither Jongin's fault for not telling his bestfriend about his feelings.

 

He wanted to accept the years he has wasted bearing grudges only he knew. Jongin wanted to be free of the guilt chaining him up. He wanted to accept the fact that it was too late for him and his wife.

 

But it is not yet too late for him to start all over again.

 

"I am forgiving you, Kim Jongin, my friend," I said.

 

By accepting his apology doesn't just mean I, as Jongdae, is forgiving him. I was the key for him to finally forgive himself too. For the past he has greatly suffered.

 

"Why do you forgive me easily? Shouldn't you be mad?," Jongin asked.

 

"People find it easier to forgive others for being wrong than being right," I replied. 

 

Just then, a group of well dressed men crowded over to our spot. They were dressed formally, similar to those men found in the movie Men in Black. They also had ear pieces and handheld radios in their grasp. They might be a bunch of new millennial thugs who came to get a load from us. They probably saw Jongin's black credit card earlier.

 

The shortest and least terrifying member of the group took charge by coming forward. I had my eyes set on the bottles of wine lying on the table. In case they might do something crazy like hurt us, I'll immediately hit them with the bottles. Then, I'll help Jongin escape with me or simply dial 119 to report them.

 

However, all my efforts of planning were put in vain when the leader- I'll suppose he is- spoke.

 

"President," he uttered in a hushed tone. "You should go back to the house."

 

His statement confused the hell out of me.

 

President? I had only been a president all my life once, and that was during the Baduk Club in our school. I think it won't count because we only had seven members that time. Their peculiar arrival led me into a conclusion that they were shooting a hidden camera prank.

 

"President?," I asked.

 

"Yes." 

 

"Oh boy," I said, clicking my tongue mischievously. "You're all doomed right now! I have already caught up with your scheme!"

 

I took off laughing, the first time I did this night. If they thought they can outsmart me with their antics, well, I'm not buying it.

 

"You're a terrible actor! I know what this is. This is a hidden camera prank, right?"

 

The nervousness on my veins were gone. It was replaced with pride and a terrible sense of narcissistic confidence. I stood up to face the leader. I was about to high five him when he walked past me. I turned around and found him patting Jongin's back, gently waking him up.

 

"Mr. President, sir," I heard him say. "Let's go home now."

 

I retreated to the counter, not believing what I just heard.

 

"Wait, did you just call him Mr. President?," I asked again.

 

The leader grabbed something from the pocket of his suit. He then gave it to me. It was a business card.

 

"I am Oh Sehun, Mr. Kim's secretary," he acquainted me of himself. 

 

Due to the dimmed lights in the bar, I barely read the words printed in fancy gold cursive letters. It states,

Oh Sehun

Secretary, Lotte Co., Ltd 

Group of Companies

 

"I would like to apologize if Mr. Kim, in his intoxicated state, bothered you to the point of annoyance. As his appointed secretary, I will do my job now of escorting Mr. Kim back to his house. You, on the other hand," Sehun paused to look at me, "will also be escorted to your home, if you wish. And if you would like to stay here, we can assure you that all expenses on your tab will be on us."

 

I looked at the business card again. I knew Jongin was rich, but I never expected him to be this rich.

 

Nonetheless, I should not trust them right away. The business card must be a good alibi, yet in this unknown world full of betrayal and wickedness, I needed another proof. A solid one. I told them they can only take Jongin if he knows them. Sehun agreed right away. I then went to the old man to wake him up.

 

"Uh... Jongin- err, Mr. Kim, do you know these men?"

 

Jongin lazily opened one of his eyes. It took him a moment to identify the man in front of him. When he did, he got up, walked in zigzag and threw himself at Sehun.

 

"Sehun! Oh Sehun! Oh, Oh Sehun!," he said, passionately hugging his comrade that has gone frozen from the sudden show of affection. "Have you finally found me? I guess so. You're already here. Are you gonna drag me home again?"

 

Sehun, just as I did, also struggled to get the old man's vine-like grip away from him. Jongin wasn't aware his assistant has already untangled himself from him, so he lost his balance. Luckily, one of the bodyguards were able to catch him before his head touches the cold floor. 

 

For a moment, I saw Sehun's face flinch from concern for the old man, a sign saying his care for his boss wasn't limited to work only. 

 

"Sir, you cannot tell your bodyguards to stay away from you and run away from them. They were specifically paid to be by your side all the time to protect and accompany you," Sehun stated. "And in addition, we never dragged you home during those nights."

 

I would assume that Jongin getting drunk today wasn't a rare case. Sehun talking about 'those nights' meant the old man usually gets himself drunk to the point of oblivion.

 

"Mr. Oh, have you meet my friend?," Jongin said, undeterred from Sehun's lectures. "This is Kim Jongdae. I have finally met him!"

 

In his attempt to get me face-to-face with his assistant, Jongin shrugged off the bodyguards holding him in place. This caused him to fall down. I heard Sehun give a brief sigh, half annoyed and half embarrassed by his employer's actions.

 

"Mr. Kim," Sehun began. "Please stand up."

 

"No, I don't want to. Have you tried this? The floor is very cold. It must be lonely. I'm gonna stay here for a while and be his friend," Jongin replied.

 

Jongin remained lying on the cold floor, occasionally caressing it. The next thing we know, Jongin was snoring. Sehun nodded at the bodyguards, telling them to pick out their passed out president.

 

I followed suit.

 

When we got out of the bar, the world suddenly became silent. We were already far away from the loud music. It felt empty. I felt empty.

 

The snow has stopped falling. I looked around me. Everything was white, covered with snow. Even the two black executive cars in front of me had snow on the roof.

 

"You can have the other car," Sehun said to me. "Tell the driver your location and he can take you home."

 

"Will he be alright?" 

 

The question was out of the blue. I never expected myself to blurt it out and neither was Sehun. He patted my back softly. He must have wondered as to how I had gotten close to the old man in the brief amount of time we shared. 

 

He did.

 

Kim Jongin did open several chambers in my heart without knowing it. He has made me see the world in a different spectrum. 

 

Sehun gave me a curt nod before saying

 

"He will. He always does."

 

~

 

 

I stared at my phone's cracked screen with my mouth gaping. If someone would bother looking at my way, they might think I was just a random bored college student who has no life. Or they might say I was a calm dude in spite of the chaotic environment. But, unfortunately, I am not. Certainly not. Underneath my cheap yet fake brown fur coat, my heart was blazing with fire. To describe my emotion right now as anger would be an understatement.

 

I missed my high school reunion.

 

Park Chanyeol, one of my best buddies back then before I morphed into a hermit, called me a month ago. He told me the students of Gyeonggi Science Highschool Batch 2013 will be having a gathering on the thirteeth. That's what I heard. After Chanyeol said the date, I stopped listening to him and started making up imaginary scenarios that probably won't happen. You know why? Because Fate's a complete jerk. He loves torturing his petty humans under his thumb.

 

I was giddy at the thought of not just meeting my high school friends once again yet what I was really looking forward to the most was meeting Yoo Eunyoung, the infamous risk-taker of Suwon. It was rumoured she cut her wavy waist-length hair into a pixie one. 

 

Bizarrely, I wasn't surprised when the news reached me. It was another brave example of Eunyoung's rebellion against stereotypical gender standards. She must have wanted to prove those people around her wrong when they said only boys can pull off a short hair.

 

You see, she is a strong woman. She stands up high to represent those trampled due to generalizations. She speaks for those who are muted by the so-called standards of the society. That's why I decided she'll be worthy of holding the title of being my first love. She was beautiful, in her own way, yet it was her personality that got me head over heels for her.

 

Since I talk so fondly of her, you'd probably assume we were close. I'd give you the answer right away, but I want you to read it as if it was heavily coated with sarcasm. 

 

Yes, we were close.

 

I tried, though. The number of failed attempts I did just to catch Eunyoung's attention has become overwhelming. She was the famous fellow while I, on the other hand, was the quirky introvert. We were the perfect definition of polar opposites. I don't know why people love to pair up people with opposing personalities together. Opposites attract? Ha ha ha. Then will somebody explain to me the unlucky phenomena of me not getting Eunyoung as my girlfriend?

 

Don't be a know-it-all with me by pointing out to me that if I'm that curious to see her new look, I could have just checked her social accounts because I already did, only to find out she has deactivated all of her social accounts. Not to sound creepy, but I do follow all her accounts on the internet. I am definitely not a stalker. I am a fan.

 

Now, back to my explanation of my situation... and possible rant explosions. 

 

As soon as the university bells rang to signal the end of the day, I sprinted my way towards the train station to catch the scheduled trip to Gyeongi. During the one-and-a-half hour time I was in the train, I managed to take a nap to replenish the energy I lost due to the horrifying test I took earlier, control my hair so it would follow my desire, and prepare a speech in case I bump into Eunyoung.

 

The party was set at seven yet when I went inside the agreed bar, no one else was around except for a group of scary men who dressed and acted like they were part of the mafia. I should have been having double thoughts back then. It seemed odd to be the early bird when in fact, I was already forty-five minutes late.

 

I waited for another two hours. When the clock struck nine, I decided to roam around the bar, thinking they might have a special hideout and such. I had circumnavigated the small liquor store several times, yet I never found a single face I recognized. Then I finally had the common sense to inquire with Chanyeol as to why no one was showing up.

 

And, lo and behold, I found out the biggest plot twist of the year. 

 

For God's sake, the date wasn't at the thirtieth; it was on the thirteenth! Chanyeol told me they were also wondering as to why I wasn't around, yet they did not contact me for they thought I was busy. He also admitted Eunyoung's rumors to be true. She even dyed it blonde. Chanyeol found my circumstance a laughing stock. I needed to hang up on him without asking for his permission because it was the only way he'd stop laughing.

 

As if it wasn't enough, fate decided to mess with my life again. 

 

I looked outside through the transparent glass of the bar. The snow outside would have made me nostalgic of the days where I used to build snow globes during Christmas Eve. It still does, aside from this night where snow falling frequently from the sky equals an impending doom. Right on cue, the weather forecaster announced all roads on the Northern province will be temporarily closed to avoid further incidents.

 

So here I am, sitting at the bartender's table. Alone, cold and nowhere to go. The whiskey I ordered was untouched. I don't even drink, but I had to order so I won't be kicked out of here. My phone vibrated, telling me I only have three percents left.

 

Guess who's the unlucky guy of the day?

 

An old man sits next to me. My initial instinct was to get annoyed. Of all the empty chairs, why sit next to me? Is this his way of showing me his life was a lot more exciting than mine? I know I'm getting illogical. No way in hell would he be able to discern my dejected life- except if he's Fate who came to take revenge on me after I've badmouthed him. 

 

The night was still young, but he was already drunk. He seemed rich, judging from the tattered all-black suit he was wearing. I was about to scoot to another chair discreetly when the old man spoke.

 

"How are the kids?"

 

I continued to scrape my off the seat. The old man must be drunk-talking. Is drunk-talking a word? Besides, I don't need to bother myself from other people's business. My life was troublesome enough.

 

"Long time no see, my beloved friend," he kept on saying. "Finally we've met. I wanted to tell you the truth. The truth. Nothing but the truth."

 

Okay. I told you. He was drunk-talking. I took a sip from my liquor, my face distorting from the bitter taste. I was about to dismiss the old man as a mere lunatic when he suddenly said something that caught my attention.

 

"My old friend. My beloved. My bestfriend. Kim. Jong. Dae." He uttered my father's name in between his hiccups. "Why are you getting away? Are you leaving me again?"

 

He looked up, and I finally saw his appearance. Your typical Asian male. He had an oval face with a defined, slightly pointed chin and a sturdy jawline. His jet-black eyes were upturned, sitting below unkept eyebrows that seemed to curve as a natural extension of his pointed broad nose. His full lips, however were chapped and seemed bruised. The only distinct asset he has was his scraggly beard and his greying greasy hair that looked like as though he has not washed them for several days. He looked the same age as my father. Early fifties.

 

"Come here." He put an arm around me, drawing me closer to him. "I want- need, rather- to tell you the truth."

 

"Who are you? How did you know my father?," I asked, dumbfounded.

 

"I've kept this secret with myself for so long, my heart has become heavy. I have always wanted to tell you this, but I never saw you again. Where have you been?," he asked, still caught up with the idea of me being my father.

 

"I'm sorry, but I am not who you think I am."

 

"I am not, either. I am-"

 

"No. No. That's not what I mean. Kim Jongdae, the name you called me earlier, is not me. You've mistaken me for my father."

 

He laughed. It sounded raspy. "I'm in no time for your pranks tonight, Jongdae. Wait, are you acting like this because you are mad at me?"

 

I slowly shook my head.

 

"You're saying you're not right now, but I'm pretty sure after you knew about the truth, you'll get mad at me." 

 

He tugged at the edge of my coat. I begged him to let me go, yet he won't. His grip tightened.

 

"Just... listen," he pleaded.

 

My phone vibrated. The screen indicated I have thirty seconds left before it shuts down. I gave a loud sigh, trying to compose myself. I mentally calculated my options. Which would be better: getting out of the bar and be free from this mysterious man but it'll be cold, or stay trapped in this foreign place and wait for a drunk man to bore me out? I drank the remaining whiskey in my glass in one large gulp, the alcohol stinging the back of my throat, and made a decision.

 

"Fine," I said, admitting defeat. "Tell me the truth."

 

His eyes lightened up from my statement. He tried to sit better, only to end up falling from his stool. His loud fall attracted attention. Everyone had their eyes on us. To tell them we were fine and I have the situation under control, I had to shout against the loud music.

 

I helped him return to his seat. As I did, I noticed he was slightly more skinny than the average person of his age. He was crouching, an invisible force wearing him down. Luckily though, he was not injured.

 

"Who are you?," I asked again.

 

He chuckled. "Don't you remember me? I'm the only bestfriend you have, and will ever have. How dare you forget me? Was I no one for you?" He looked mad. 

 

"It's me, Kim Jongin," he introduced himself.

 

I watched him order another bottle of wine.The beverage he chose must be expensive, seeing the young bartender double take upon hearing the name of the wine. Jongin got infuriated by the bartender's hesitation. He threatened him by saying he'll buy the bar once he's sober and kick out the judgemental bartender, all the while waving his black credit card in the air.

 

"Remember Señorita, the nickname I gave my childhood crush before?," Jongin asked, returning back to our conversation.

 

"No, I don't. I don't even know y-"

 

"Shhh." He hushed me by putting his two dirty fingers on my lips. "I told you: just listen. Don't talk."

 

I ordered another glass of whiskey to celebrate my upcoming bland night. I need not to worry about my bill later on because Jongin has already paid everything we'll order for the night using his luxurious credit card.

 

Jongin continued talking.

 

"I want you to recall her, because you seemed to have forgotten her. Forgotten. I kept on repeating those words like a mobius strip.

 

"Señorita was my first love. She was my friend ever since I was young. Her house was just a block away from ours. She did not come from a rich family, but she carried with her an air of classiness and eliteness. So I called her Senorita. When I reached the peak of my teenage year, I can't help but fall for her. Do you remember her now?"

 

I remained stoic faced, sarcastically following his order to be quiet. Jongin doesn't seem to notice this.

 

"Sadly, my father got promoted. Now, there's nothing wrong with getting promoted to a job you have loyally served, but my father getting promoted meant we'll need to transfer to the city. I'll be leaving my childhood sweetheart behind."

 

My prediction was accurate. Fate really was taunting me. How high are the odds of meeting an old version of me in a chilly November night? Probably a negative one percent. Yet our life was so much alike, feigning apathy was a difficult task. At some point of our lives, we both suffered the forlorn effect of unrequited love.

 

"On my last year as a high school student on the busy city called Seoul, we met. We became seatmates on my new school. You were such a socialite back then. You won't look at me because I was poor. You held your social status so dearly as if it was the most important thing in the world. How did we become friends, then?"

 

He seemed like he was thinking hard. But I doubt it. With the drunken state he's on, thinking straight would be hardwork. I reminisced the first time I got drunk. It was during our high school graduation celebration. I was so out of my mind I kept on blabbering things about aliens invading Pluto.

 

"It's not the test. We were already close that time. Was it during the gym class? No. I don't join gym-," he spoke, thinking out loud. "It was because of the food stuck between your teeth!"

 

"Your so called friends," he made air quotes with the word friends, "were torridly laughing at your appearance behind your back. I was the only one who was brave enough to point out something wrong. I even gave you toothpicks for it. And... That was the beginning of the friendship of the slave and the king. You dropped your elite class and started hanging out with me.

 

"Don't we use to ring the doorbells at the fancy houses of your fancy village back then then run? Man, those were the golden times. And also, that time when you ate triangle bimbimbap for the first time? You were such an ignorant little boy!

 

"College was a challenge for us. That rhymed." He chortled, amused at his own self. "You passed the screening for Seoul University. I did, too. Of course I will. I was a lot smarter than you. But then again, we were poor. The tuition was too expensive. We can't afford it on our own. I intended to stop studying and just work.

 

"Your dad- er, I mean late dad came up with an idea of making me your family scholar. When he called me over your house to talk matters, I was frightened! Oh boy, was he a big scary man. But when he spoke, he spoke so softly I thought it was a dwarf talking to me."

 

He broke down on a fit of laughter. My father does not like talking about my grandfather that much. From what I knew, they were in a great fight and Gramps swore on his death bed to never give Dad any of his wealth. He was lying, of course. Because after the funeral, Gramps' lawyer approached us, letting us know that Gramps has already secured our future, even my future child's future.

 

"He told me he was thankful it was me who became your friend. He thought I changed your life. He said to me, in that little voice of his," he paused, clearing his throat. 

 

"My son treats you as the brother he never had." The old man mimicked a high-pitched voice. "If my son treats you like a brother, we'll treat you like our very own son, too. You're our family now, and in families, no one gets ignored or forgotten." 

 

"You look bored," he said to me, temporarily stopping his story telling.

 

I gave off a triumphant smirk from his question. It was the only time he has noticed about me, and possibly the only time he'll regard me as me, and not as my father.

 

"I don't."

 

"You do."

 

"No, it's my regular poker face. Keep on talking."

 

Somehow, Kim Jongin's story sounded promising. He was a live and unscripted audiobook, and as a self-proclaimed bookworm, I cannot dare to leave the book without knowing its ending.

 

"You studied business, I studied computer programming. What age were we there?," he continued.

 

"Early twenties?," I said, unsure.

 

He looked like he was calculating in his mind, but he gave up easily.

 

"One day you approached me. Your face was so close from breaking because of that big grin plastered on your face. According to you, if my memory is still intact- because obviously I am drunk right now- you were about to check-out your book in the library when an ethereal being entered your peripheral vision. You described her as if she was a goddess walking down on earth. Soon, we'll find out her name was Jung Soojung."

 

My jaw literally dropped. I am almost convinced by now that this man is not a mere stranger. He might not know about me, but he knows a lot about my family. Much more than I do.

 

"But you're a chicken. I'm not gonna hold back anymore. You're the chicken-est of all the boys out there. You're an egg!" 

I kept my cool, giving him an easy smile. Although deep within me, I was fighting against the urge to hit him several times after hearing him insult my father right in front of me.

 

"You basically stalked her. You knew her address, her full name, her section and her class schedule. You even kept track of her library visits just to see her pretty face. I won't even be surprised if you also knew her blood type, or the size of her feet or- Geez, dude, you're creepy!" 

 

"Why did dad act that way?"

 

"Why you, the great Jongdae, ended up doing some extreme measures? Probably because you are in love! You loved her the very moment you saw her strut in the fiction section of the library.

 

"But like I said, you're the chicken-est of them all, so you didn't have the balls to go up to her and introduce yourself. You get it? You got the pun?"

 

He violently patted my back to force me to laugh at his lame joke.

 

"So, I had to go up there, being the very good bestfriend I am. I befriended Soojung. Once we became close, I put you up in the picture. Then, fast forward to heat things up, the two of you worked out! You liked her, and she liked you too.

 

"You planned to confess to her in the library, believing it was romantic. Do you know how troublesome it was to arrange a confession at a library? Of course you don't! Because it was me who worked hard on everything. You stupid bastard! You made me arrange your confession!"

 

Jongin pouted. I chimed in to his story telling. I already knew what would happen next. Mom used to tell me about it to put me to sleep when I was still young.

 

"Jongdae and Soojung's relationship lasted two years." Referring to my parents using their first names sounded weird. "After they have graduated college, they decided to marry right away. The wedding bore fruit two healthy boys."

 

"Correct. Correct." He was nodding his head vigorously. "Of course I was also there. We were each other's best man during each of our wedding."

 

"Who did you marry then?"

 

"You seem to be forgetful lately." He shot me a suspicious look. "I married Song Qian, the student librarian I badly asked out just to let you do your extemporaneous facade."

 

"So it worked out between the two of you then? I mean, Jongdae and you both lived happy lives."

 

I asked the bartender to pour me another drink.

 

"Yep."

 

"And?"

 

"And, what?"

 

"Where's the 'truth'? You told me you're going to confess it to me this evening."

 

Jongin smiled. But this time, his smile carried a hint of loneliness. He grabbed my newly refilled glass and jugged it down in one huge gulp. I realized he was thirsty but the thirst he had was not about water. He was thirsty of something only the abuse of liquor can erase.

 

I wondered how he become one.

 

"The truth?"

 

"Yes."

 

"One word."

 

"What is it?"

 

I edged myself closer to him, ignoring the offending stank of alcohol coming out of his mouth. I was thrilled to know about what he might tell me. 

 

His voice was barely an audible whisper when he said. "Señorita"

 

"What?"

 

A glimmer of light caught his face when the band started playing. I was appalled by his answer. A while ago when he was pleading for me to stay, the idea of what he might tell me seemed so mysterious. But to know that it was about his childhood friend felt disappointing. Maybe I was expecting for something more... confidential?

 

But I knew there was more when I saw his face. It was a mixture of bitterness, regret and pain.

 

"Jung Soojung." My mother's name sounded pretty when he said it. "She was senorita. My senorita."

 

At first I wanted to disclose his words. Time froze for me. The instant he said my mother's name with practiced care, I knew immediately what he meant. But still, I did not want to believe it. It sounded unreal, hearing someone tell you they loved your mom.

 

"I loved her." He finally let out the truth he has been constraining for God only knows how long. "I loved her first, and loved her more."

 

The loud bar was muted by his silence. There were still questions hanging under my head, but I kept my mouth shut. Seeing water form in his eyes was enough of an answer.

 

"The moment you pointed at her, even if she had her back on us, I knew immediately that it was her. I kept on hinting unto you about Senorita but you did not listen to me. You never do. I befriended her easily all because she already knew me. Do you know how painful it is, how much it hurt me, to arrange everything for your confession when I knew that it should be me asking for her heart? That it should be me telling her she's my world, and not you."

 

My heart hurt from seeing a broken man cry. I wanted to look away, but Jongin's gaze told me not to. I was torn. I was afflicted with how his eyes seemed so woeful staring straight at me, as if it was challenging me to see the pain I had inflicted on him.

 

"You never asked me how I felt. All you cared was having the girl. Didn't you read it in my face, that I was uncomfortable? That I was not fine? I thought that's how friendships were made, because I did it. I sacrificed my happiness for yours. I always made you the priority. But what did you do? You disowned me.

 

"You came up to me one night. You told me I was not your friend anymore and you don't want to see me again. What was the reason, Jongdae? Was I too much? Oh no, wait. I was the one who was supposed to disown you. You were the bad one. So, why did you turn me down? You're so unfair."

 

Tears were still rolling down his face. He started sobbing. Jongin put his hand over his mouth to stop himself from wailing. It was also him who broke the stare first. He took long deep breaths, attempting to calm himself.

After a moment, he began to talk.

 

"You know, my wife had her funeral today. She was diagnosed with lung cancer. She doesn't even smoke," he said gently. "I stayed with her during her last days. She told me she knew our feelings for each other will never be mutual. She knew I loved another woman, and our marriage was an ugly band-aid for the dirty mistake we've made. But she told me that when she said the words 'I do' during our wedding ceremony, she had already dismissed herself as Song Qian. Once she kneeled at the altar, she was Kim Qian.

 

"It pricked the deepest parts of me. There I was hurting over you. There I was, chasing for a star on my dreams, without realizing I already had the whole universe in my hands.

 

"I wept at Qian's tomb. I hated you for not giving a little consideration, without thinking I was being a hypocrite myself. I was the one who doesn't give others a little thought. I just kept on beating around the bush. You were never to be blamed about my misdoings. And meeting Qian wasn't a mistake."

 

He was crying loudly now. Openly. He was sobbing so hard he found it hard to speak. The words coming out of his mouth sounded gibberish. I stood up to grab tissues for him.

 

"Kim Jongdae, my friend," Jongin said, holding out to my hand.

 

"I'm sorry." He said with utmost sincerity.

 

Then it dawned on me. This is the truth he was talking about. This was the reason why he was so eager to talk to some stranger just to release the pent up emotions he had that tortured him for years. Senorita, his childhood crush and my mother, was an excuse.

 

Acceptance.

 

Acceptance, I realize, is the truth. 

 

Jongin longed for acceptance. Acceptance, the art of letting go. He wanted to accept the fact that no one was at fault. It was not my father's fault for not seeing the mask he put up, and it was neither Jongin's fault for not telling his bestfriend about his feelings.

 

He wanted to accept the years he has wasted bearing grudges only he knew. Jongin wanted to be free of the guilt chaining him up. He wanted to accept the fact that it was too late for him and his wife.

 

But it is not yet too late for him to start all over again.

 

"I am forgiving you, Kim Jongin, my friend," I said.

 

By accepting his apology doesn't just mean I, as Jongdae, is forgiving him. I was the key for him to finally forgive himself too. For the past he has greatly suffered.

 

"Why do you forgive me easily? Shouldn't you be mad?," Jongin asked.

 

"People find it easier to forgive others for being wrong than being right," I replied. 

 

Just then, a group of well dressed men crowded over to our spot. They were dressed formally, similar to those men found in the movie Men in Black. They also had ear pieces and handheld radios in their grasp. They might be a bunch of new millennial thugs who came to get a load from us. They probably saw Jongin's black credit card earlier.

 

The shortest and least terrifying member of the group took charge by coming forward. I had my eyes set on the bottles of wine lying on the table. In case they might do something crazy like hurt us, I'll immediately hit them with the bottles. Then, I'll help Jongin escape with me or simply dial 119 to report them.

 

However, all my efforts of planning were put in vain when the leader- I'll suppose he is- spoke.

 

"President," he uttered in a hushed tone. "You should go back to the house."

 

His statement confused the hell out of me.

 

President? I had only been a president all my life once, and that was during the Baduk Club in our school. I think it won't count because we only had seven members that time. Their peculiar arrival led me into a conclusion that they were shooting a hidden camera prank.

 

"President?," I asked.

 

"Yes." 

 

"Oh boy," I said, clicking my tongue mischievously. "You're all doomed right now! I have already caught up with your scheme!"

 

I took off laughing, the first time I did this night. If they thought they can outsmart me with their antics, well, I'm not buying it.

 

"You're a terrible actor! I know what this is. This is a hidden camera prank, right?"

 

The nervousness on my veins were gone. It was replaced with pride and a terrible sense of narcissistic confidence. I stood up to face the leader. I was about to high five him when he walked past me. I turned around and found him patting Jongin's back, gently waking him up.

 

"Mr. President, sir," I heard him say. "Let's go home now."

 

I retreated to the counter, not believing what I just heard.

 

"Wait, did you just call him Mr. President?," I asked again.

 

The leader grabbed something from the pocket of his suit. He then gave it to me. It was a business card.

 

"I am Oh Sehun, Mr. Kim's secretary," he acquainted me of himself. 

 

Due to the dimmed lights in the bar, I barely read the words printed in fancy gold cursive letters. It states,

Oh Sehun

Secretary, Lotte Co., Ltd 

Group of Companies

 

"I would like to apologize if Mr. Kim, in his intoxicated state, bothered you to the point of annoyance. As his appointed secretary, I will do my job now of escorting Mr. Kim back to his house. You, on the other hand," Sehun paused to look at me, "will also be escorted to your home, if you wish. And if you would like to stay here, we can assure you that all expenses on your tab will be on us."

 

I looked at the business card again. I knew Jongin was rich, but I never expected him to be this rich.

 

Nonetheless, I should not trust them right away. The business card must be a good alibi, yet in this unknown world full of betrayal and wickedness, I needed another proof. A solid one. I told them they can only take Jongin if he knows them. Sehun agreed right away. I then went to the old man to wake him up.

 

"Uh... Jongin- err, Mr. Kim, do you know these men?"

 

Jongin lazily opened one of his eyes. It took him a moment to identify the man in front of him. When he did, he got up, walked in zigzag and threw himself at Sehun.

 

"Sehun! Oh Sehun! Oh, Oh Sehun!," he said, passionately hugging his comrade that has gone frozen from the sudden show of affection. "Have you finally found me? I guess so. You're already here. Are you gonna drag me home again?"

 

Sehun, just as I did, also struggled to get the old man's vine-like grip away from him. Jongin wasn't aware his assistant has already untangled himself from him, so he lost his balance. Luckily, one of the bodyguards were able to catch him before his head touches the cold floor. 

 

For a moment, I saw Sehun's face flinch from concern for the old man, a sign saying his care for his boss wasn't limited to work only. 

 

"Sir, you cannot tell your bodyguards to stay away from you and run away from them. They were specifically paid to be by your side all the time to protect and accompany you," Sehun stated. "And in addition, we never dragged you home during those nights."

 

I would assume that Jongin getting drunk today wasn't a rare case. Sehun talking about 'those nights' meant the old man usually gets himself drunk to the point of oblivion.

 

"Mr. Oh, have you meet my friend?," Jongin said, undeterred from Sehun's lectures. "This is Kim Jongdae. I have finally met him!"

 

In his attempt to get me face-to-face with his assistant, Jongin shrugged off the bodyguards holding him in place. This caused him to fall down. I heard Sehun give a brief sigh, half annoyed and half embarrassed by his employer's actions.

 

"Mr. Kim," Sehun began. "Please stand up."

 

"No, I don't want to. Have you tried this? The floor is very cold. It must be lonely. I'm gonna stay here for a while and be his friend," Jongin replied.

 

Jongin remained lying on the cold floor, occasionally caressing it. The next thing we know, Jongin was snoring. Sehun nodded at the bodyguards, telling them to pick out their passed out president.

 

I followed suit.

 

When we got out of the bar, the world suddenly became silent. We were already far away from the loud music. It felt empty. I felt empty.

 

The snow has stopped falling. I looked around me. Everything was white, covered with snow. Even the two black executive cars in front of me had snow on the roof.

 

"You can have the other car," Sehun said to me. "Tell the driver your location and he can take you home."

 

"Will he be alright?" 

 

The question was out of the blue. I never expected myself to blurt it out and neither was Sehun. He patted my back softly. He must have wondered as to how I had gotten close to the old man in the brief amount of time we shared. 

 

He did.

 

Kim Jongin did open several chambers in my heart without knowing it. He has made me see the world in a different spectrum. 

 

Sehun gave me a curt nod before saying

 

"He will. He always does."

 

~

 

The ride back home was awkward. The driver was kinda rude. When I attempted to open a conversation with him, he asked me instead if I would like him to turn on the radio. Either way, I let him pass. He must not be a chatty kind of person or he was just tired. After all, it was already twelve minutes past one.

 

It usually takes twenty-five minutes to reach my apartment in Seoul using private vehicles- an hour when I use the train, which I favor because taxis are expensive- but with Mr. Kim's driver, it only took fifteen minutes. He was a swift driver, even though he never drove past the speed limit. He took shortcuts I never knew existed.

 

When we arrived, I gave him a generous thank you. He didn't answer me; and it was fine. One can never have the best in his life served to him at all times. The world is composed of a variety of people, and that's what makes living exciting and worthwhile.

 

The lights in my room were still on. I hurried over to find out why. I opened the door and saw my mother's small figure draped around the sofa. I walked in tiptoes so as to avoid waking her up.

 

"You're home?," her sleepy voice echoed around the area.

 

I turned around, having been caught. She was already up although her eyes were still half-opened, trying to adjust with the light. She had her arms around her, hugging her tiny frame.

 

Years of caring for the family and years of stress had added white streaks of hair in her head. She also stopped looking after her appearance. She had contented herself with wearing loose sweaters and putting her long hair in a bun. Time must have taken its toll on my mother, but it wasn't enough to conceal her beauty.

 

My mother was still beautiful.

 

Her caramel colored eyes still portrays warmth. Her lips still speaks of kindness and integrity. Her face was still poised like that of a royalty, proud but never arrogant.

 

I know now why Jongin fell for her.

 

"What time is it? What took you so long? Where have you been?," she began asking simultaneously. "Have you eaten already?"

 

At the mention of it, my stomach gave an audible growl. I realized I haven't eaten anything else since I immediately went to the bar. My mother seemed to have read my mind. She went directly to the kitchen without waiting for my reply.

 

"I finally found the buyer for the house we're selling in Jejudo. It was a newlywed. As a sign of gratitude, I made kimchi for them. I had a lot of leftovers so I decided to give you one, too," she said. "I also heard from Mrs. Park- that old lady downstairs- that you have been living your life with eating noodles the whole time."

 

"That's..." I faltered, unable to form a good excuse.

 

"Don't lie, I have rummaged through your fridge earlier. But don't worry. I already cooked for you. Here, on the top shelf, are the main dishes. There's beef and pork. Just reheat it whenever you're hungry. Below are the side dishes. You don't need to reheat it, just make sure that you have closed the lid properly to avoid spoiling."

 

I nodded, memorizing her instructions. I watched her roam around my kitchen, preparing a meal for me. I sat at the dining table, a habit I have developed after being scolded several times for trying to help her prepare the table. According to her, it is her job to serve us.

 

"Mom," I began. "I met someone at the bar today."

"So that's where you went? Instead of studying, were you out there drinking?"

 

"It was Kim Jongin."

 

The plates stopped clunking against each other. My mother froze at the sound of his name.

 

"He said he was Dad's bestfriend. Was he saying the truth?"

 

Even when she had her back to me, I can see my moter's pallid face. She always had answers on everything. 

 

What's that white circular object above the sky? Why do we love spicy things? Can you put kimchi in your lettuce wrap? Why do people die?

 

Even with the silliest questions, she always supplies my curious mind with properly thought answers. But it seems like tonight, she won't be able to give me one.

 

"How come I never knew about him? Why did you keep his existence a secret from me?"

 

At last, my mother's hands were in motion again. This meant she'll answer my questions. She the stove, put the worn-out pan and poured a thick soup to reheat it. She was strolling for a longer time to answer me. The delicious aroma of braised meat and tangy herbs drafted around the room.

 

"Yes, it is true," my mother said. "Your father had a bestfriend named Jongin."

 

My mother's voice was soothing. The calmness amidst the hurricane of my confused thoughts. She was stirring the soup with placidity, as if she wasn't bothered with my questions.

 

"We thought you wouldn't need to know about it. It was a chapter of your father's life he doesn't like to go back to. I respected your father's decision of being silent."

 

"Mr. Kim said Dad suddenly cut his ties with him. Were they on a fight?"

 

"The two of them- your dad and Jong-in- were the best of friends. They might be cats and dogs, always arguing even on the most frivolous manner, but they stood up for each other. You shared the same characteristic as your father when he was at your age: dedicated, upright and quiet. Jongin, on the other hand, was a free soul- restless, risk-taker and annoyingly loud.

 

"They were pen and paper. Spoon and fork. Salt and pepper. They compliment each other. There was even a time when," my mother said, a smile brightening her face as she recalls her youth. "I got jealous of Jongin. Your father seemed to spend more time with him. I felt like he loved his bestfriend more than his girlfriend. So I made him choose among us!"

 

"Who did he choose?," I questioned. "You?"

 

"No, he didn't," my mother said while putting placemats on the table. "Although I would have been happier if he chose me. Instead, your father picked the safer route. He choose no one."

 

I chuckled. If I was on the same situation as my father, I would also do the same. The table is slowly filled with varying dishes. My mouth watered from the appetizing sight ahead of me, but a puzzle piece is still yet to be revealed.

 

"If that's the case, then why did they broke up?"

 

"It was your grandfather," she answered. "At first he was supportive of their friendship. He even paid for Jongin's college tuition for the sake of your father's happiness. It went on for years. We were happy. Until Jongin started his own business."

 

"The Lotte supermarket?"

 

"Your grandfather became deluded with thoughts of Jongin using your father's name to be popular in the business industry. He called Jongin a shameless social climber. Of course, your grandfather was wrong. Jongin was talented in commerce. Your father tried hard to make your grandfather understand. But he won't. He was a stubborn old man. He threatened your father by stating he'll strip him off of his inheritance if he'll continue being friends with Jongin."

 

"So Dad surrendered his friendship over money?"

 

"No," she countered. "It was more than that. I never knew the precise reason why your father did so, but one thing is for sure. Jongdae is not the type of man to desert someone he have been with through thick and thin. There must be a good cause, but it will never be because of money."

 

"Why can't I remember him? I don't have any memory about him, when he's supposed to be my father's bestfriend. I was astonished when he called out Dad's name."

 

"It's because," she replied right away. "You were still young when that commotion happened. Were you two years old? But if you want further proof, you can ask your older brother."

"My older brother knows?"

 

I pulled the chair out for my mother. She slid in gracefully. Albeit my never-ending stream of questions, she remained understanding- never showing a sign of impatience.

 

"He might. He was around seven or eight, I think. Besides, you never liked him," she said. "Let's eat now, before the food turns cold."

 

My eyes wandered around the filled table. It was a array of colors, and it was composed of all my favorite foods. I smiled at my mother, silently thanking her for her efforts. 

 

Just as I was about to stuff my mouth with food, I noticed something that tugged the emotions I have.

 

"Mom..." I stopped, unable to form the next word, knowing it will hurt my mother.

 

Her eyes left mine to see why I called her name. I watched her inspect the table, looking for the mistake. The side dishes were complete. The soup placed in a fancy bowl. There's a pitcher of cold water on the center.

 

I never wished to be blind all my life, yet this night, I'd prefer losing one of my senses than seeing the anguished look on my mother's face as she realizes what she has done.

 

She has set the table for three.

 

"I'm... I'm sorry," she said, her voice cracking.

 

I had only seen my mother cry twice. The first was when my older brother got the highest grade in SAT and the second was when dad died. Maybe she's not the type to cry easily, or she was just good at hiding it.

 

"I'm sorry," she repeated.

 

I got up from my chair and went to comfort my weeping mother. She had both of her hands on her face, covering herself. When I placed an arm around her, her sobs became louder.

 

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

 

"Shhh."

 

"I'm sorry you look like your father," she apologized.

 

I closed my eyes, hoping... and praying for the tears not to come. I know I looked like the splitting image of my father. I know my mother misses my father so much, she always visit me, even if she had to travel for several hours.

 

Because I look like my father. 

 

Seeing me is the closest thing she can do to see my late father again.

 

"I try so hard to forget him. I tell myself it'll be fine. Your father is doing fine above protecting us. I should be fine, too," she tried explaining. "Kyungsoo, I love your father. I love him with all my heart. I love you, too. Kyungsoo-ah, do you hear me?"

 

My mother kept on saying... telling me she loves my father. I held her tighter, comforting her. I am aware that my mother repeating those words again and again meant something else. It was her own way of reassuring herself she truly loved my father.

 

I placed my chin on top of my mother's hair. Her hair smelled like that of vanilla. She always does. I bite my lower lip as one particular memory unfolds in my mind.

 

I was young back then, four or five years of age. The type of child who's afraid of the monsters lurking in the dark. My mother always had to accompany me in my room. She sat beside me, having just answered my question about her "cake-like" smell. She told me it was her vanilla flavored shampoo.

 

She started telling me a bedtime story. It was about their wedding. According to her, it was the glamorous wedding all girls dream of and the solemn wedding everyone envied them for. A picture of my mother tucking me to bed burned into my head. 

 

I was too young and too naive to understand back then. But now, after the eventful night, I finally understood why mom kept on telling me she danced twice in her wedding day. 

 

The first was with the man she married. 

 

The other, with the man she wished she married.

 

"I know," I said, now meaning what I said more than ever.

 

~

 

I stood screeching in front of the giant building of Lotte Company and Organization. It was a bright Sunday morning, in contrast to the cold evening the night before. The sun was out, reflecting a glint on the building's glass windows.

 

Instead of sleeping late which I usually do during weekends to recharge myself of all those hours I lost just to study, I got up early. My mother was already gone. She woke me up at dawn to tell me she's going home. I hugged her goodbye.

 

Not wasting time, I grabbed whatever was on my closet. Ripped jeans that's losing its color, a plain black t-shirt, the fake fur I wore last night and sneakers. Before going to bed last night, I looked up on the internet the address of Kim Jongin's office. I was relieved the area was within walking distance.

 

I prepped myself, garnering confidence to walk up the intimidating entrance. The people coming in with me wore formal attires, mine looked out of place. I contemplated several times whether I should go inside or not. At the end, I decided to silence the demons lurking inside my head.

 

I needed to do this.

 

"Hello, good morning," I managed to say.

 

The receptionist looked up from her desk and with a courteous tone she said,

 

"Good morning to you, too. What can I help you with?"

 

"I would like to meet Mr. Kim Jongin."

 

"Do you have an appointment?"

 

"No, I don't. But he knows me. Well, not basically me, more like my father, but I think he will-"

 

"Mister?"

 

"Yes?"

 

"You can only meet Mr. President if you have scheduled an appointment with him. To do so, you must provide us with a viable reason why you are meeting up with him. Although Mr. Oh is the one who manages most of the appointments."

 

"Mr. Oh? Mr. Oh Sehun?," I asked and the receptionist nodded. "He knows me! You see, we met yesterday at a bar. I have here Mr. Oh's business card. Please call him to confirm my identity. Please, I really need to talk him. Why? What are you doing?"

 

I was in the middle of explaining things when two security guards held me by the arm. I looked at the receptionist. She was already entertaining another person. I struggled to get away from them, but my petite body was no match against their toned muscles.

 

The security guards- much to my annoyance - were able to successfully drag my off from their beloved building.

 

"Hey! Why drag me here! I SWEAR MR. KIM KNOWS ME!," I bellowed.

I threw my head down, frustrated at myself.

 

Another typical dumb Kyungsoo moment. Of course Mr. Kim's a prominent man! Meeting him is like meeting Eunyoung. A rare case. How the hell did I forget that they won't let me in that easily? As far as I know, they might think I'm a random boy trying to threaten their company.

 

I was about to give up when I came face-to-face with a familiar yet unexpected man.

 

"Looking for Mr. Kim?," Mr. Kim's driver- the one who drove me home yesterday- asked.

 

"Yeah," I replied, feeling kinda awkward. "How'd you know?"

 

"Saw you there," he nodded his head towards the direction of the building. "Why? Going to ask for some... money?"

 

I gave off a nervous laugh thrown off by his blunt approach.

 

"No, I... uh, need to tell Mr. Kim something."

 

"Something important?," the driver asked and I nodded right away. "Well then, if you need to see him, follow me. Just make sure it's not about money."

 

Although I followed Mr. Kim's driver, I still positioned myself several steps away from him. Be wary, just in case. The driver continued talking about people abusing his boss's kindness. He seem to respect his president a lot. He doesn't notice this, though.

 

"So... where's Mr. Kim?," I asked him when he stopped walking at the center of the parking lot.

 

"Kids this day," Mr. Kim's driver said, giving me a dissatisfied sneer. "Always impatient. You can't help yourself? Could you just let me explain why I led you here before asking?"

 

"S-sorry."

 

"You see this," he patted the roof of a black car. "This is President Kim's car. I am here because I am supposed to pick him up at this very moment. You are here because I am helping you."

 

"Why are you helping me?"

 

"You just..." he said. "Because you look pathetic."

 

I don't know if I should be thankful or offended by his reason. I didn't have the time to ponder because right then, Mr. Kim emerged from the elevator door.

 

"Mr. Kim! Mr. Kim Jongin!," I said, excitedly running towards his direction.

 

I was immediately held in restraints by his body guards. I kept on shouting Mr. Kim's name, desperately wanting to catch his attention. Mr. Kim, together with his secretary, Mr. Oh, seemed to be oblivious about the boy calling them out.

 

They were getting farther away. The body guards still holding me tightly. Mr. Oh is now helping Mr. Kim get in the car.

 

I needed to do something.

 

"Mr. Kim Jongdae's bestfriend!" 

 

At the sound of his bestfriend's name, Mr. Kim stopped his tracks. He ordered his body guards to let me go. I shrugged them off, giving them a victorious grin as I walk towards the person they restrained me for.

 

"Good morning to you, sir." I bowed in front of Mr. Kim. "You might not remember me, but I remember you. I met you last night at the bar. I'm Do Kyungsoo."

 

Mr. Kim's face lit up with recognition. I reached out my hand to introduce myself. Mr. Kim happily shook it.

 

"Kyungsoo? Is that you? You've grown big already! The last time I saw you, you were still crawling!" Mr. Kim's laugh echoed around the cemented ground. "Why did the wind take you here?"

 

"Mr. Kim, I... uh, need to bring you somewhere."

 

"Why?"

 

"It's in the- I'll tell you later about it when we reach the place. I swear, it's something important!"

 

"Well then, if my favorite bestfriend's son wishes to spend some time with me, then I shall gratefully make thy wish come true. Get in. Go on, get in the car."

 

Mr. Kim motioned me over, widely opening the car door himself.

 

"President Kim, you cannot just go anywhere. You have a meeting at ten," Mr. Oh said, rushing over to stop his boss.

 

"We'll make it fast. There's still an hour left before ten o'clock. We'll be back at 9:30," I said.

 

Mr. Kim smiled. "You heard what he said. Sehun, we'll be right back."

 

Mr. Oh can't do anything else but follow their president's order. I went inside the car first, followed by Mr. Kim. The car was luxurious, the interior polished and exclusively cared.

 

"Where shall we go, Mr. President?," the driver asked.

 

"Seoul National Cemetery," I replied.

 

The instant the place where we're going was revealed, Mr. Kim's face clouded with sadness. He looked away, busying himself with staring at the scenery outside. Through his reflection on the window glass, I saw him wince.

 

After several minutes, he cleared his throat.

 

"Are you still a Do?" Mr. Kim asked.

 

He was referring to my surname. When I was young, the nurse who was looking after me confused me with another child. So when they registered me, I became a Do instead of a Kim. 

 

"Yeah," I replied. "We've been working hard about it but the process always gets delayed or meets troubles."

 

Mr. Kim nodded. "You're in college now, right? What course did you take?"

 

"Business Management. I'm in my third year."

 

"Are you good at it?"

 

"So far I have not failed any of my classes yet. So... maybe I am."

 

Mr. Kim laughed, bemused at me. "Then if you finish your studies, I can get you a job at my company."

 

I started laughing too, flattered by Mr. Kim's offer. Just then, the driver announced we had arrived. The atmosphere instantly shifted. It became gloomy. Mr. Kim was silent again as we walked the path leading to the Columbarium where my father's niche is.

 

"What happened?," Mr. Kim grievously asked when we reached my father's memorial place.

 

"Heart-" I stuttered. "Heart attack."

 

Mr. Kim touched the glass encasing my father's urn. Inside it was a my father's favorite instrument, a wooden flute and our family portrait taken when I graduated high school. There was a plotted dandelion outside that's slowly withering.

 

"He had a bad case of high blood pressure, a disease he got from grandfather's genes. Last year he had a . He needed to be admitted to the hospital." I bit my lower lip, attempting to divert the pain I felt as I reminisce the darkest days of my life to my mouth. "He woke up one night telling us he can't breathe."

 

I stopped talking when I saw Mr. Kim's tears fall. He was crying again. Unlike last night, he wasn't making ny noise. He was just crying, his hands placed on the transparent glass, his tears cascading down his cheeks. His face was wet, but he didn't care.

 

I silently excused myself. I went outside, leaving Mr. Kim alone. I noticed another car parked beside Mr. Kim's car. It was Mr. Oh. He seemed to have understood the situation because he stood still.

 

Together, we patiently waited for Mr. Kim.

 

Several minutes later, Mr. Kim emerged from the cemetery. His eyes and nose were red from crying, but he wasn't sad anymore. He had with him a light aura. He asked me about the details of the night before.

 

I told him everything. From how I ended up in a bar, to how he came pleading to me to let him confess the truth. To how I have forgiven him in place of my father, and to how Mr. Oh found him. Every now and then, Mr. Kim would give a small smile.

 

"You can visit us, you know. Especially Mom," I suggested.

 

Mr. Kim shook his head. "No."

 

"Why?"

 

"I'll come visit you someday. Not today, not tomorrow, but someday. Someday, when all the wounds we inflicted on ourselves have finally healed. Someday, when we finally became proud of the scars we had."

 

"Mr. Kim, thank you for accompanying me today," I said.

 

"No, you don't need to thank me," Mr. Kim said, patting my back gently. "It should be me who should be thankful. Do Kyungsoo..."

 

"Yes, sir?"

 

"Thank you."

 

~

 

Two weeks have passed since that historic night. Mom still visits me, but not that frequent anymore. She put up a flower shop and it has kept her busy ever since. I read in the newspaper this morning that Mr. Kim's company is planning to expand their enterprise in China. He looked happy in the front cover.

 

As for me, I'm waiting for the train to come. My older brother's getting married in Busan and I needed to attend. There's still few minutes left before the train arrives.

 

"Do Kyungsoo!," someone shouted.

 

I stood up, frantically looking for the direction of the voice. Her voice. I turned around, and found Eunyoung running towards me.

 

I suddenly can't move. She's here. Yoo Eunyoung is here. My Eunyoung.

 

"You know me?," I asked.

 

Eunyoung laughed. Seeing her in close distance was breathtaking. Her blonde hair was stunning. It made her pale face look smaller. She was wearing denim jeans and a checkered polo shirt. Everything about her screams perfection, especially since she was smiling.

 

"How could I forget you, Mr. President of Baduk Club?"

 

I scratched the back of my neck, embarrassed. We sat down in the bench.

 

"Why are you here?," I said.

 

"I'm going to Busan for my vacation. I heard they have great beaches there."

 

"All by yourself?"

 

"Yeah. Why? Is there something wrong with it?"

 

"No. Nothing's wrong with it."

 

"How about you, where are you headed?"

 

"To Busan also. It's my older brother's wedding."

 

"Congrats!," she exclaimed. 

 

I heard her sigh. I offered to buy her a drink but she said no. 

"I heard you've met my uncle," she said. "My uncle, Uncle Jongin."

 

"Ah... That- Yes, I did."

 

"How much did he tell you?"

 

"What do you mean?," I asked, totally clueless.

 

"You know, when Uncle Jongin gets drunk, he mistakes everyone as his bestfriend, Jongdae. He's your father, right? Sometimes he remembers when he's sober, sometimes he doesn't," Eunyoung explained. "Tell me, did he tell you the truth too?"

 

"She loved him too," I said. "He was also my mother's first love. But she later gave up on him. Over the course of time, she found herself slowly falling for my father."

 

"Well that's life," Eunyoung replied, nodding her head. "Sometimes you won't know the importance of something until it becomes nothing but a memory. Your mother must have figured out you can't cry over spilt milk."

 

Silence ensued between the two of us. Together, we watched the people passing by. They were busy with their own lives. Some came in pairs or in groups, while there were others who were alone.

 

"How great is it?," she wondered. "To have someone crying over you, after all those years. The power you hold over someone, knowing they love you unconditionally. The thought of not just living, but existing."

 

"You want to be like my mother?"

 

"No," Eunyoung said, her eyes shining from anticipation.

 

Her face brightened and a small smile formed in her rose colored lips as an idea I cannot read forms in her head. She looked excited, her eyes wild.

 

I've never seen her like this. She was the Amazonian rebel for me. But this sight of her being dreamy, made me want to know her more.

 

"No, I don't want to be like your mother. I want to be like my uncle. I want to love someone so passionately it breaks your heart over and over again."

 

Just then, the train sounded its arrival. People crowded over us, wanting to get in. They walked between the two of us, parting me and Eunyoung. I was still looking at her. I can't seem to get my eyes away from her.

 

"Mr. President of Baduk Club, why are you just standing there? Don't we have a train to catch?," Eunyoung said.

 

Her statement brought me back to Earth. I started moving towards her. She put an arm around me a if we were the best of friends. She still had her smile on her face. She was bubbly, cheerful and a free spirited soul just like her uncle. Her activeness seemed to rub on me as I catch myself smiling too.

 

Fate wasn't that cruel, after all. It might be rude sometimes, but it allowed me to meet Kim Jongin.

 

His was a tale of bittersweet events- falling in love, knowing his bestfriend, marrying Song Qian, mourning her death, and finally accepting his situation. Of all the things I've learned from him, it is to take risks when it comes to love, because love itself is already a risk.

 

And as I follow Eunyoung towards the train going to Busan, I promised myself one thing: to actually give it a try.

 

 

 

 

 

The ride back home was awkward. The driver was kinda rude. When I attempted to open a conversation with him, he asked me instead if I would like him to turn on the radio. Either way, I let him pass. He must not be a chatty kind of person or he was just tired. After all, it was already twelve minutes past one.

 

It usually takes twenty-five minutes to reach my apartment in Seoul using private vehicles- an hour when I use the train, which I favor because taxis are expensive- but with Mr. Kim's driver, it only took fifteen minutes. He was a swift driver, even though he never drove past the speed limit. He took shortcuts I never knew existed.

 

When we arrived, I gave him a generous thank you. He didn't answer me; and it was fine. One can never have the best in his life served to him at all times. The world is composed of a variety of people, and that's what makes living exciting and worthwhile.

 

The lights in my room were still on. I hurried over to find out why. I opened the door and saw my mother's small figure draped around the sofa. I walked in tiptoes so as to avoid waking her up.

 

"You're home?," her sleepy voice echoed around the area.

 

I turned around, having been caught. She was already up although her eyes were still half-opened, trying to adjust with the light. She had her arms around her, hugging her tiny frame.

 

Years of caring for the family and years of stress had added white streaks of hair in her head. She also stopped looking after her appearance. She had contented herself with wearing loose sweaters and putting her long hair in a bun. Time must have taken its toll on my mother, but it wasn't enough to conceal her beauty.

 

My mother was still beautiful.

 

Her caramel colored eyes still portrays warmth. Her lips still speaks of kindness and integrity. Her face was still poised like that of a royalty, proud but never arrogant.

 

I know now why Jongin fell for her.

 

"What time is it? What took you so long? Where have you been?," she began asking simultaneously. "Have you eaten already?"

 

At the mention of it, my stomach gave an audible growl. I realized I haven't eaten anything else since I immediately went to the bar. My mother seemed to have read my mind. She went directly to the kitchen without waiting for my reply.

 

"I finally found the buyer for the house we're selling in Jejudo. It was a newlywed. As a sign of gratitude, I made kimchi for them. I had a lot of leftovers so I decided to give you one, too," she said. "I also heard from Mrs. Park- that old lady downstairs- that you have been living your life with eating noodles the whole time."

 

"That's..." I faltered, unable to form a good excuse.

 

"Don't lie, I have rummaged through your fridge earlier. But don't worry. I already cooked for you. Here, on the top shelf, are the main dishes. There's beef and pork. Just reheat it whenever you're hungry. Below are the side dishes. You don't need to reheat it, just make sure that you have closed the lid properly to avoid spoiling."

 

I nodded, memorizing her instructions. I watched her roam around my kitchen, preparing a meal for me. I sat at the dining table, a habit I have developed after being scolded several times for trying to help her prepare the table. According to her, it is her job to serve us.

 

"Mom," I began. "I met someone at the bar today."

"So that's where you went? Instead of studying, were you out there drinking?"

 

"It was Kim Jongin."

 

The plates stopped clunking against each other. My mother froze at the sound of his name.

 

"He said he was Dad's bestfriend. Was he saying the truth?"

 

Even when she had her back to me, I can see my moter's pallid face. She always had answers on everything. 

 

What's that white circular object above the sky? Why do we love spicy things? Can you put kimchi in your lettuce wrap? Why do people die?

 

Even with the silliest questions, she always supplies my curious mind with properly thought answers. But it seems like tonight, she won't be able to give me one.

 

"How come I never knew about him? Why did you keep his existence a secret from me?"

 

At last, my mother's hands were in motion again. This meant she'll answer my questions. She the stove, put the worn-out pan and poured a thick soup to reheat it. She was strolling for a longer time to answer me. The delicious aroma of braised meat and tangy herbs drafted around the room.

 

"Yes, it is true," my mother said. "Your father had a bestfriend named Jongin."

 

My mother's voice was soothing. The calmness amidst the hurricane of my confused thoughts. She was stirring the soup with placidity, as if she wasn't bothered with my questions.

 

"We thought you wouldn't need to know about it. It was a chapter of your father's life he doesn't like to go back to. I respected your father's decision of being silent."

 

"Mr. Kim said Dad suddenly cut his ties with him. Were they on a fight?"

 

"The two of them- your dad and Jong-in- were the best of friends. They might be cats and dogs, always arguing even on the most frivolous manner, but they stood up for each other. You shared the same characteristic as your father when he was at your age: dedicated, upright and quiet. Jongin, on the other hand, was a free soul- restless, risk-taker and annoyingly loud.

 

"They were pen and paper. Spoon and fork. Salt and pepper. They compliment each other. There was even a time when," my mother said, a smile brightening her face as she recalls her youth. "I got jealous of Jongin. Your father seemed to spend more time with him. I felt like he loved his bestfriend more than his girlfriend. So I made him choose among us!"

 

"Who did he choose?," I questioned. "You?"

 

"No, he didn't," my mother said while putting placemats on the table. "Although I would have been happier if he chose me. Instead, your father picked the safer route. He choose no one."

 

I chuckled. If I was on the same situation as my father, I would also do the same. The table is slowly filled with varying dishes. My mouth watered from the appetizing sight ahead of me, but a puzzle piece is still yet to be revealed.

 

"If that's the case, then why did they broke up?"

 

"It was your grandfather," she answered. "At first he was supportive of their friendship. He even paid for Jongin's college tuition for the sake of your father's happiness. It went on for years. We were happy. Until Jongin started his own business."

 

"The Lotte supermarket?"

 

"Your grandfather became deluded with thoughts of Jongin using your father's name to be popular in the business industry. He called Jongin a shameless social climber. Of course, your grandfather was wrong. Jongin was talented in commerce. Your father tried hard to make your grandfather understand. But he won't. He was a stubborn old man. He threatened your father by stating he'll strip him off of his inheritance if he'll continue being friends with Jongin."

 

"So Dad surrendered his friendship over money?"

 

"No," she countered. "It was more than that. I never knew the precise reason why your father did so, but one thing is for sure. Jongdae is not the type of man to desert someone he have been with through thick and thin. There must be a good cause, but it will never be because of money."

 

"Why can't I remember him? I don't have any memory about him, when he's supposed to be my father's bestfriend. I was astonished when he called out Dad's name."

 

"It's because," she replied right away. "You were still young when that commotion happened. Were you two years old? But if you want further proof, you can ask your older brother."

"My older brother knows?"

 

I pulled the chair out for my mother. She slid in gracefully. Albeit my never-ending stream of questions, she remained understanding- never showing a sign of impatience.

 

"He might. He was around seven or eight, I think. Besides, you never liked him," she said. "Let's eat now, before the food turns cold."

 

My eyes wandered around the filled table. It was a array of colors, and it was composed of all my favorite foods. I smiled at my mother, silently thanking her for her efforts. 

 

Just as I was about to stuff my mouth with food, I noticed something that tugged the emotions I have.

 

"Mom..." I stopped, unable to form the next word, knowing it will hurt my mother.

 

Her eyes left mine to see why I called her name. I watched her inspect the table, looking for the mistake. The side dishes were complete. The soup placed in a fancy bowl. There's a pitcher of cold water on the center.

 

I never wished to be blind all my life, yet this night, I'd prefer losing one of my senses than seeing the anguished look on my mother's face as she realizes what she has done.

 

She has set the table for three.

 

"I'm... I'm sorry," she said, her voice cracking.

 

I had only seen my mother cry twice. The first was when my older brother got the highest grade in SAT and the second was when dad died. Maybe she's not the type to cry easily, or she was just good at hiding it.

 

"I'm sorry," she repeated.

 

I got up from my chair and went to comfort my weeping mother. She had both of her hands on her face, covering herself. When I placed an arm around her, her sobs became louder.

 

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

 

"Shhh."

 

"I'm sorry you look like your father," she apologized.

 

I closed my eyes, hoping... and praying for the tears not to come. I know I looked like the splitting image of my father. I know my mother misses my father so much, she always visit me, even if she had to travel for several hours.

 

Because I look like my father. 

 

Seeing me is the closest thing she can do to see my late father again.

 

"I try so hard to forget him. I tell myself it'll be fine. Your father is doing fine above protecting us. I should be fine, too," she tried explaining. "Kyungsoo, I love your father. I love him with all my heart. I love you, too. Kyungsoo-ah, do you hear me?"

 

My mother kept on saying... telling me she loves my father. I held her tighter, comforting her. I am aware that my mother repeating those words again and again meant something else. It was her own way of reassuring herself she truly loved my father.

 

I placed my chin on top of my mother's hair. Her hair smelled like that of vanilla. She always does. I bite my lower lip as one particular memory unfolds in my mind.

 

I was young back then, four or five years of age. The type of child who's afraid of the monsters lurking in the dark. My mother always had to accompany me in my room. She sat beside me, having just answered my question about her "cake-like" smell. She told me it was her vanilla flavored shampoo.

 

She started telling me a bedtime story. It was about their wedding. According to her, it was the glamorous wedding all girls dream of and the solemn wedding everyone envied them for. A picture of my mother tucking me to bed burned into my head. 

 

I was too young and too naive to understand back then. But now, after the eventful night, I finally understood why mom kept on telling me she danced twice in her wedding day. 

 

The first was with the man she married. 

 

The other, with the man she wished she married.

 

"I know," I said, now meaning what I said more than ever.

 

~

 

I stood screeching in front of the giant building of Lotte Company and Organization. It was a bright Sunday morning, in contrast to the cold evening the night before. The sun was out, reflecting a glint on the building's glass windows.

 

Instead of sleeping late which I usually do during weekends to recharge myself of all those hours I lost just to study, I got up early. My mother was already gone. She woke me up at dawn to tell me she's going home. I hugged her goodbye.

 

Not wasting time, I grabbed whatever was on my closet. Ripped jeans that's losing its color, a plain black t-shirt, the fake fur I wore last night and sneakers. Before going to bed last night, I looked up on the internet the address of Kim Jongin's office. I was relieved the area was within walking distance.

 

I prepped myself, garnering confidence to walk up the intimidating entrance. The people coming in with me wore formal attires, mine looked out of place. I contemplated several times whether I should go inside or not. At the end, I decided to silence the demons lurking inside my head.

 

I needed to do this.

 

"Hello, good morning," I managed to say.

 

The receptionist looked up from her desk and with a courteous tone she said,

 

"Good morning to you, too. What can I help you with?"

 

"I would like to meet Mr. Kim Jongin."

 

"Do you have an appointment?"

 

"No, I don't. But he knows me. Well, not basically me, more like my father, but I think he will-"

 

"Mister?"

 

"Yes?"

 

"You can only meet Mr. President if you have scheduled an appointment with him. To do so, you must provide us with a viable reason why you are meeting up with him. Although Mr. Oh is the one who manages most of the appointments."

 

"Mr. Oh? Mr. Oh Sehun?," I asked and the receptionist nodded. "He knows me! You see, we met yesterday at a bar. I have here Mr. Oh's business card. Please call him to confirm my identity. Please, I really need to talk him. Why? What are you doing?"

 

I was in the middle of explaining things when two security guards held me by the arm. I looked at the receptionist. She was already entertaining another person. I struggled to get away from them, but my petite body was no match against their toned muscles.

 

The security guards- much to my annoyance - were able to successfully drag my off from their beloved building.

 

"Hey! Why drag me here! I SWEAR MR. KIM KNOWS ME!," I bellowed.

I threw my head down, frustrated at myself.

 

Another typical dumb Kyungsoo moment. Of course Mr. Kim's a prominent man! Meeting him is like meeting Eunyoung. A rare case. How the hell did I forget that they won't let me in that easily? As far as I know, they might think I'm a random boy trying to threaten their company.

 

I was about to give up when I came face-to-face with a familiar yet unexpected man.

 

"Looking for Mr. Kim?," Mr. Kim's driver- the one who drove me home yesterday- asked.

 

"Yeah," I replied, feeling kinda awkward. "How'd you know?"

 

"Saw you there," he nodded his head towards the direction of the building. "Why? Going to ask for some... money?"

 

I gave off a nervous laugh thrown off by his blunt approach.

 

"No, I... uh, need to tell Mr. Kim something."

 

"Something important?," the driver asked and I nodded right away. "Well then, if you need to see him, follow me. Just make sure it's not about money."

 

Although I followed Mr. Kim's driver, I still positioned myself several steps away from him. Be wary, just in case. The driver continued talking about people abusing his boss's kindness. He seem to respect his president a lot. He doesn't notice this, though.

 

"So... where's Mr. Kim?," I asked him when he stopped walking at the center of the parking lot.

 

"Kids this day," Mr. Kim's driver said, giving me a dissatisfied sneer. "Always impatient. You can't help yourself? Could you just let me explain why I led you here before asking?"

 

"S-sorry."

 

"You see this," he patted the roof of a black car. "This is President Kim's car. I am here because I am supposed to pick him up at this very moment. You are here because I am helping you."

 

"Why are you helping me?"

 

"You just..." he said. "Because you look pathetic."

 

I don't know if I should be thankful or offended by his reason. I didn't have the time to ponder because right then, Mr. Kim emerged from the elevator door.

 

"Mr. Kim! Mr. Kim Jongin!," I said, excitedly running towards his direction.

 

I was immediately held in restraints by his body guards. I kept on shouting Mr. Kim's name, desperately wanting to catch his attention. Mr. Kim, together with his secretary, Mr. Oh, seemed to be oblivious about the boy calling them out.

 

They were getting farther away. The body guards still holding me tightly. Mr. Oh is now helping Mr. Kim get in the car.

 

I needed to do something.

 

"Mr. Kim Jongdae's bestfriend!" 

 

At the sound of his bestfriend's name, Mr. Kim stopped his tracks. He ordered his body guards to let me go. I shrugged them off, giving them a victorious grin as I walk towards the person they restrained me for.

 

"Good morning to you, sir." I bowed in front of Mr. Kim. "You might not remember me, but I remember you. I met you last night at the bar. I'm Do Kyungsoo."

 

Mr. Kim's face lit up with recognition. I reached out my hand to introduce myself. Mr. Kim happily shook it.

 

"Kyungsoo? Is that you? You've grown big already! The last time I saw you, you were still crawling!" Mr. Kim's laugh echoed around the cemented ground. "Why did the wind take you here?"

 

"Mr. Kim, I... uh, need to bring you somewhere."

 

"Why?"

 

"It's in the- I'll tell you later about it when we reach the place. I swear, it's something important!"

 

"Well then, if my favorite bestfriend's son wishes to spend some time with me, then I shall gratefully make thy wish come true. Get in. Go on, get in the car."

 

Mr. Kim motioned me over, widely opening the car door himself.

 

"President Kim, you cannot just go anywhere. You have a meeting at ten," Mr. Oh said, rushing over to stop his boss.

 

"We'll make it fast. There's still an hour left before ten o'clock. We'll be back at 9:30," I said.

 

Mr. Kim smiled. "You heard what he said. Sehun, we'll be right back."

 

Mr. Oh can't do anything else but follow their president's order. I went inside the car first, followed by Mr. Kim. The car was luxurious, the interior polished and exclusively cared.

 

"Where shall we go, Mr. President?," the driver asked.

 

"Seoul National Cemetery," I replied.

 

The instant the place where we're going was revealed, Mr. Kim's face clouded with sadness. He looked away, busying himself with staring at the scenery outside. Through his reflection on the window glass, I saw him wince.

 

After several minutes, he cleared his throat.

 

"Are you still a Do?" Mr. Kim asked.

 

He was referring to my surname. When I was young, the nurse who was looking after me confused me with another child. So when they registered me, I became a Do instead of a Kim. 

 

"Yeah," I replied. "We've been working hard about it but the process always gets delayed or meets troubles."

 

Mr. Kim nodded. "You're in college now, right? What course did you take?"

 

"Business Management. I'm in my third year."

 

"Are you good at it?"

 

"So far I have not failed any of my classes yet. So... maybe I am."

 

Mr. Kim laughed, bemused at me. "Then if you finish your studies, I can get you a job at my company."

 

I started laughing too, flattered by Mr. Kim's offer. Just then, the driver announced we had arrived. The atmosphere instantly shifted. It became gloomy. Mr. Kim was silent again as we walked the path leading to the Columbarium where my father's niche is.

 

"What happened?," Mr. Kim grievously asked when we reached my father's memorial place.

 

"Heart-" I stuttered. "Heart attack."

 

Mr. Kim touched the glass encasing my father's urn. Inside it was a my father's favorite instrument, a wooden flute and our family portrait taken when I graduated high school. There was a plotted dandelion outside that's slowly withering.

 

"He had a bad case of high blood pressure, a disease he got from grandfather's genes. Last year he had a . He needed to be admitted to the hospital." I bit my lower lip, attempting to divert the pain I felt as I reminisce the darkest days of my life to my mouth. "He woke up one night telling us he can't breathe."

 

I stopped talking when I saw Mr. Kim's tears fall. He was crying again. Unlike last night, he wasn't making ny noise. He was just crying, his hands placed on the transparent glass, his tears cascading down his cheeks. His face was wet, but he didn't care.

 

I silently excused myself. I went outside, leaving Mr. Kim alone. I noticed another car parked beside Mr. Kim's car. It was Mr. Oh. He seemed to have understood the situation because he stood still.

 

Together, we patiently waited for Mr. Kim.

 

Several minutes later, Mr. Kim emerged from the cemetery. His eyes and nose were red from crying, but he wasn't sad anymore. He had with him a light aura. He asked me about the details of the night before.

 

I told him everything. From how I ended up in a bar, to how he came pleading to me to let him confess the truth. To how I have forgiven him in place of my father, and to how Mr. Oh found him. Every now and then, Mr. Kim would give a small smile.

 

"You can visit us, you know. Especially Mom," I suggested.

 

Mr. Kim shook his head. "No."

 

"Why?"

 

"I'll come visit you someday. Not today, not tomorrow, but someday. Someday, when all the wounds we inflicted on ourselves have finally healed. Someday, when we finally became proud of the scars we had."

 

"Mr. Kim, thank you for accompanying me today," I said.

 

"No, you don't need to thank me," Mr. Kim said, patting my back gently. "It should be me who should be thankful. Do Kyungsoo..."

 

"Yes, sir?"

 

"Thank you."

 

~

 

Two weeks have passed since that historic night. Mom still visits me, but not that frequent anymore. She put up a flower shop and it has kept her busy ever since. I read in the newspaper this morning that Mr. Kim's company is planning to expand their enterprise in China. He looked happy in the front cover.

 

As for me, I'm waiting for the train to come. My older brother's getting married in Busan and I needed to attend. There's still few minutes left before the train arrives.

 

"Do Kyungsoo!," someone shouted.

 

I stood up, frantically looking for the direction of the voice. Her voice. I turned around, and found Eunyoung running towards me.

 

I suddenly can't move. She's here. Yoo Eunyoung is here. My Eunyoung.

 

"You know me?," I asked.

 

Eunyoung laughed. Seeing her in close distance was breathtaking. Her blonde hair was stunning. It made her pale face look smaller. She was wearing denim jeans and a checkered polo shirt. Everything about her screams perfection, especially since she was smiling.

 

"How could I forget you, Mr. President of Baduk Club?"

 

I scratched the back of my neck, embarrassed. We sat down in the bench.

 

"Why are you here?," I said.

 

"I'm going to Busan for my vacation. I heard they have great beaches there."

 

"All by yourself?"

 

"Yeah. Why? Is there something wrong with it?"

 

"No. Nothing's wrong with it."

 

"How about you, where are you headed?"

 

"To Busan also. It's my older brother's wedding."

 

"Congrats!," she exclaimed. 

 

I heard her sigh. I offered to buy her a drink but she said no. 

"I heard you've met my uncle," she said. "My uncle, Uncle Jongin."

 

"Ah... That- Yes, I did."

 

"How much did he tell you?"

 

"What do you mean?," I asked, totally clueless.

 

"You know, when Uncle Jongin gets drunk, he mistakes everyone as his bestfriend, Jongdae. He's your father, right? Sometimes he remembers when he's sober, sometimes he doesn't," Eunyoung explained. "Tell me, did he tell you the truth too?"

 

"She loved him too," I said. "He was also my mother's first love. But she later gave up on him. Over the course of time, she found herself slowly falling for my father."

 

"Well that's life," Eunyoung replied, nodding her head. "Sometimes you won't know the importance of something until it becomes nothing but a memory. Your mother must have figured out you can't cry over spilt milk."

 

Silence ensued between the two of us. Together, we watched the people passing by. They were busy with their own lives. Some came in pairs or in groups, while there were others who were alone.

 

"How great is it?," she wondered. "To have someone crying over you, after all those years. The power you hold over someone, knowing they love you unconditionally. The thought of not just living, but existing."

 

"You want to be like my mother?"

 

"No," Eunyoung said, her eyes shining from anticipation.

 

Her face brightened and a small smile formed in her rose colored lips as an idea I cannot read forms in her head. She looked excited, her eyes wild.

 

I've never seen her like this. She was the Amazonian rebel for me. But this sight of her being dreamy, made me want to know her more.

 

"No, I don't want to be like your mother. I want to be like my uncle. I want to love someone so passionately it breaks your heart over and over again."

 

Just then, the train sounded its arrival. People crowded over us, wanting to get in. They walked between the two of us, parting me and Eunyoung. I was still looking at her. I can't seem to get my eyes away from her.

 

"Mr. President of Baduk Club, why are you just standing there? Don't we have a train to catch?," Eunyoung said.

 

Her statement brought me back to Earth. I started moving towards her. She put an arm around me a if we were the best of friends. She still had her smile on her face. She was bubbly, cheerful and a free spirited soul just like her uncle. Her activeness seemed to rub on me as I catch myself smiling too.

 

Fate wasn't that cruel, after all. It might be rude sometimes, but it allowed me to meet Kim Jongin.

 

His was a tale of bittersweet events- falling in love, knowing his bestfriend, marrying Song Qian, mourning her death, and finally accepting his situation. Of all the things I've learned from him, it is to take risks when it comes to love, because love itself is already a risk.

 

And as I follow Eunyoung towards the train going to Busan, I promised myself one thing: to actually give it a try.