“Where’s your mother?” Namjoon asks as he steps into the dark house. Usually, I would manoeuvre in the dark straight into my room but for the guest tonight I turn the lights on.

 

“I wonder about that sometimes, too,” I tell him. Where did she go to ‘entertain clients’ tonight? I used to think about this all the time but it took too much effort so I gave up.

 

Namjoon invites himself to look around as I grab him a drink from the fridge.

 

“I don’t think it’s expired yet,” I say, handing him the canned soda. Does soda even have expiry dates? I shrug to myself. He furrows his brows at me but pulls the tab open anyway and takes a quick swig.

 

“Where’s your father?”

 

I try to keep my mood light despite a possibly darkened expression. “They divorced.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“Don’t be. It’s all history anyway.” Making myself comfortable on the sofa, I switch the TV on. “What brings you here at this hour?”

 

“Jungkook’s a fast learner,” he says, sitting down beside me. He’s reporting to me now about their tuition session yesterday?

 

“That’s not what you’re here for,” I note aloud.

 

Namjoon chews on his lower lip the way he does whenever he’s thinking of words to say. He seems to have a lot on his mind. Then, as if having decided on something, he pulls up a smile on his face. “I just came to see you.”

 

“You forget that my strongest talent is catching your lies.” I stare into his eyes in hopes to get something from there. Namjoon’s smile falls. Looking down, he hesitantly reaches out a hand. He lets the tips of his fingers touch my hand and when I don’t reject, he takes my hand in his own.

 

“Sera…” He calls my name softly.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

I sense more hesitation from him. Finally, taking a deep breath, he says, “I can’t sleep.”

 

“You can’t sleep,” I repeat. He’s so close to tears I don’t know how to react. What has his insomnia got anything to do with me? Oh. “Are you still having nightmares?”

 

“My birth parents found me,” he explains, to which I nod grimly. As a kid, I never quite understood what he told me but slowly I learnt.

 

Namjoon was adopted by his current parents just a year before I met him. He should have been eight years old then…? His birth parents left him because apparently, he was too much of a hassle, whatever that means. I remember he told me he sometimes would have nightmares. Even though he doesn’t have much impression of his childhood, he has vague memories of harsh beatings, of those whips that left red welts on his body.

 

I thought it was because he still thought of his birth parents occasionally and that those thoughts triggered his nightmares. It took a while for the bad dreams to quieten down. Every time he had nightmares, he would call me and we would talk on the phone until he fell asleep. We didn’t have our own mobile phones then, so we had to use the house phone. He would fall asleep on his sofa, as his mum once told me. And I would sneak back into my room quietly or bear with a short lecture if one of my parents happened to have woken up. Once he warmed up to his foster parents, the nightmares stopped.

 

I look away for a moment to think. “Is that why you came back?” I ask.

 

“Partly. Mum misses home, and there was coincidentally an opening for dad to come back to work.” He pauses. “Somehow, they also think that it’s not bad an idea that I meet up with my birth parents since we’re back anyway.”

 

“Oh.” Scanning through my options, I make up my mind as I stand. I leave Namjoon for a while, heading into my room and emerging minutes later with a spare pillow and comforter. His eyes are glued on me as I return to throw him the items I brought out. When I look at him, I see a hint of spark lighting in his eyes. It dies down as quickly as it appeared.

 

“You don’t have to do this. I get that you’re still quite uncomfortable with me…” He looks down into his hands.

 

“Help me push the coffee table out a bit, will you?” Standing again, I make another trip into my room for my beanbag and blanket. I set the beanbag down where there’s now more space between the sofa and coffee table and settle down, wrapping the blanket around myself.

 

Namjoon watches me curiously. “What are you doing?”

 

“Make yourself comfortable. I don’t suppose you still sleep with warm milk, do you?”

 

Namjoon puffs out his cheeks. “As a matter of fact, I still do.”

 

“There’s probably expired milk in the fridge, if you’d like to help yourself to some of that.” I joke. Then, remembering that I have yet to brush my teeth, I proceed to do that first before sinking into my beanbag again. Since Namjoon is still standing from setting up his sleeping place, I point at the switches for him to off the lights. Now, illuminated by dim moonlight, we sit in silence.

 

I steal a glance at Namjoon who’s sitting cross-legged and huddled in the blanket. I start the conversation. “How’s school?”

 

“Warmer than it was in the States,” he says simply. His eyebrows furrow as if revisiting a bad memory.

 

“Was English difficult to pick up?”

 

“Besides home-tutoring, I studied a lot on my own. I’m not exactly fluent, but I can make my way around fine.”

 

I smile. “You were always the smarter of us two.”

 

“Ey, I see you’re quite the ace student yourself now. The kids are mostly talking about getting you to join their study group.”

 

“Don’t even mention that,” I groan, rolling my eyes. “Study group is just a nice way of putting it. All they ever do is sit around and talk nonsense.”

 

Namjoon laughs. “I get what you mean.”

 

“I’d rather study myself,” I huff. Determined to mend the gap between us, I fish out interesting things to tell him. “Oh, you know, there was this one time…”

 

As we take turns sharing our stories, I notice that nothing much has changed in that Kim Namjoon I used to know as a kid. He still thinks about the world too deeply as he tries to understand it in all its complex glory. He talks about taking an interest in literature and philosophy and I tell him about barely making it through middle school. It isn’t until I started high school that my brain actually started running and doing its job of processing school work.

 

After a while, Namjoon stops talking to hear me complain about weird kids at school. He would occasionally comment on something but his voice would become weaker every time – it’s a sign that he’s getting sleepy.

 

Too engrossed in sharing my stories, I don’t stop until his soft snoring breaks my flow. I smile at his sleeping form, his blanket messily wrapped around his outrageously tall frame. I pull out his blanket, careful not to wake him, as I tuck him in properly. Just in case it gets colder out here, I throw my own blanket over and make sure to keep the heater on before heading into my room. I pull out a musty spare blanket from deep inside my cupboard and use it as I fall into a deep slumber myself. 

 

==============================

---

---