[2018]

When Hanbin slowly tugged his hands away from Jiwon’s grip, he could actually hear his own heart protested. It was the closest they have been in months. If it is not because of the pride—of course it is pride, Hanbin would have kiss away the distance between them. Claiming his Jiwon and reminding himself that this is the relationship that they have built for more than five years.

Five years seems like years away now when Hanbin cannot even remember when was the last time he had a nice conversation with Jiwon, that doesn’t end with them yelling or Jiwon slamming doors shut.

“Please open the door,” Hanbin said, his voice coming out harsher and huskier than he intended to. Jiwon looked defeated, his shoulders hunched and he was not looking at Hanbin. When Hanbin’s hand was out of his grasp, Jiwon had reached out to try grabbing them again. But Hanbin was fast and they were both tired.

Today Hanbin run away again, and Jiwon let him go again.

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“Wouldn’t it be nice, if we have a little less fear. A little more courage.”

Hanbin had said one day back then when they were still at college. Jiwon had chuckled at that, but Hanbin knew he was thinking too.

Years later, today, Hanbin’s life is still about wondering the same thing. What if he has a little less fear; of losing, of getting abandoned, of getting hurt. A little more courage; to figure out what the hell is wrong, to tell Jiwon where the hell it went wrong, or just to face the fear that is getting bigger than he can recognize.

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It always feels like a tug inside of his chest when it happens. Like a string snapped and the pain spreads to his entire body in a millisecond, then disappears entirely—leaving him feeling vulnerable and sensitive like an open nerve. It always wakes him up in a rather violent jolt, with heart hammering against his chest as if it will crack his ribcage.

What he sees is always different from one episode to another. Sometimes it’s just black curtains all over threatening to wrap him entirely. Sometimes it’s the image of what’s dear to him being taken away forcefully. Some other times it is just the feeling of him facing the biggest fear in his life: regret, failure, disappointment. There are also times when he hears voices telling him cruel words repeatedly that he has no option but to believe it. Sometimes the voice sounds like his father. His mother. His sister.

And lately, the voice sounds like Jiwon’s.

It’s tiring.

The sense that comes back first is always his hearing. Alarm clocks or the sound of his loud ringtone that usually wakes him up. It pains him to remember that back then, the first thing he would hear was Jiwon’s husky voice that was laced so heavily with sleep—and worry. How Jiwon purposely leaned so close to him and put his forehead against Hanbin’s temple, whispering his name repeatedly to his ear, while cupping the side of his face and smoothing his stubborn eyebrow with his thumb.

“….Bin?”

Oh, how the split image of it sends warmth to Hanbin’s cold little heart.

That night, the force is exceptionally strong—the voices are loud and all he feels is cold. Hanbin couldn’t feel his fingertips. The image of Jiwon crying while gripping tightly on his wrists plays repeatedly, as if it is something that is used to punish him. He saw Jiwon’s tears fall to his wrists, burning the skin and sending pain throughout his system. He wanted so badly to touch Jiwon, to soothe him and assure that everything will be okay. To just hug him tight and never let go. But who is he kidding? He himself has been trying so badly to believe that things will get better, but the pain in his chest is a reminder that his effort is futile—the world is a bad place and things are always out of his control.

It was not the first time he sees Jiwon cry—he had cried so many times inside of Hanbin’s embrace. Hanbin had wiped so many drops of tears with his own hands. But the image that keeps repeating in his head feels distant—as if Jiwon is so far away from him and no matter how much Hanbin misses him, Jiwon keeps getting further and further away. It feels so real—too real that it physically pains him. There is this strong force that is pressing his chest and blocks the oxygen from entering his lungs, and no matter how strong he tells himself that it’s a dream, it’s only a dream, the image of Jiwon turning his back on him and walking away feels so damn real.

“…Hanbin…”

It scares him. The image repeats itself so many times as if it is being played in a loop. Jiwon letting go of his hand. Jiwon walking away without sparing him any glance.

And Hanbin is afraid that it is his destiny.

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Hanbin wants to yell, to call out Jiwon’s name repeatedly but his voice doesn’t come out. He wants to run after him but his feet are cold—they cannot move as if they are experiencing some sort of frostbite.

The force was so strong that Hanbin jerks forward. When he opens his eyes, his vision of the world is too narrow. It feels like he’s under water—all the sound seems so far away and distorted. He feels like he’s floating and he needs to hold on something to keep him on ground—and he holds onto it for his dear life.

Hanbin doesn’t know how long it lasts, but only when he comes back to his senses that he realizes he’s crying so hard. The sobs come from deep inside his chest that he can hear how awful it sounds. There’s warmth—warmth all over him and it feels like he’s slowly being thawed. Hanbin can finally feel blood rushing to his hands as he’s clenching them—that’s when he knows he’s on fabrics. His face is wet but there’s something against his cheek—there’s warmth. Warmth all over him.

“…breathe… focus on my voice.”

He needs to breathe, and not from his mouth. The more Hanbin tries to inhale, the realer it feels. All the subsided emotions suddenly flood him again without mercy.

“…Jiwon…”

How he hates that the name feels so foreign already on his tongue. How at the same time so familiar.

“I’m here… You’re okay, baby… I’m here.”

That’s Jiwon’s voice—laced so heavily with sleep and worry. His tears just fall as Jiwon whispers, calling his name over and over again. He’s kissing the top of Hanbin’s head repeatedly, tucking him into the crook of his neck, engulfing him in a momentary warmth that soothe every stinging part of his being.

It takes Hanbin a few minutes to fully register what position they are in. His sobs had quieted down, leaving only small hiccups and tear-stained face. Jiwon is caressing the back of his head ever so tenderly, resting his chin on the top of Hanbin’s head.

This position always make Hanbin feels small.

It takes Hanbin more time to recognize the strong cigarette smell on Jiwon, the smell of smoke mixed with cheap alcohol he keeps in the kitchen cabinet.

Hanbin’s brain associated this smell with anger—not his anger, but Jiwon’s. This smell is the thing he always encounter at night when Jiwon came home drunk. This is the smell of Jiwon when he’s disappointed but he cannot say it out loud. Disappointed Jiwon is the Jiwon who left him in his nightmare.

Hanbin doesn’t realize when he lets out a sound as if he’s choking—the smell is too much. The smell brings him unpleasant memories, making him feel uncomfortable just like the nightmare does. But only this one is real.

“What’s wrong, are you hurting somewhere?”

He can feel Jiwon’s breath on his forehead. Hanbin’s voice is full of concern that Hanbin knows is real. But he’s not ready—Hanbin is not ready for this and Jiwon is too close, his smell is too strong.

Hanbin doesn’t realize that he’s pushing Jiwon’s chest away—not so strongly, but enough for Jiwon to understand the meaning. He wishes that it is just his mind playing trick on him but he hears Jiwon hisses when Hanbin’s cold fingertips make contact his bare neck. Deep down Hanbin knows that this will hurt Jiwon, but his presence is too suffocating for Hanbin’s tired body. He cannot handle this now, not with this mental state.

“…Bin…?”

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry, I can’t… Not now, please, I ca—”

“Sshhh… Alright, I understand. Stop apologizing, it’s okay,” Hanbin feels a kiss on the top of his head, “…I’ll be around, okay?”

In no time, Jiwon’s hand that was circled around his body disappeared. The loss of touch actually hurts him like how a wound being exposed to an open air—it stings, and there is a major part of his brain that is telling him to beg for Jiwon not to go. But he didn’t. Just like everything bad that happened in his life, he does nothing about it.

His cowardice is scaring him.

Hanbin can still feel his tears fall and wet the side of his face before making its mark on the pillow. Jiwon pulls the blanket up to Hanbin’s neck, giving a last pat on his shoulder before he walks out of the room. He leaves the door slightly open, and a part of Hanbin is thankful for that. Jiwon still remembers that after his nightmares Hanbin doesn’t want to be alone. When Jiwon was at the rig he would stay in the video call long enough until Hanbin’s sound asleep again.

The silence rings in Hanbin’s ears, his sniffs and hiccups are still there. He is too scared to fall asleep again but he closes his eyes anyway.

Hanbin cannot help but think that his fear had hurt Jiwon more than it does to him. Hanbin realizes that he’s being selfish—but this fear is bigger than himself, bigger than Jiwon. This fear had been with him for as long as he can remember, and now it gets bigger and consumes him entirely.

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The night is not so friendly for people who has so many things on their mind. Or to people who has constant fear and regret.

Hours had passed since Hanbin woke up covered in cold sweat. The right side of the bed is always empty nowadays, and sometimes Hanbin still stretches his hands out—just out of habit. Back then his hand would meet a warm body who barely wear anything to sleep. Hanbin would trace the tattoo on that person’s back with the tip of his fingers, earning giggles or sometimes low groans from the owner.

Now his fingertips are cold, but he still remembers how warm Jiwon’s sturdy back was. Hanbin used to lean on it, sleeping soundly with Jiwon as his added cushion. He used to love it when Jiwon was the little spoon—his nape was sensitive and Jiwon has the prettiest laugh in the world.

In the last few months Jiwon had been sleeping in the guest room—sometimes on the couch in front of the TV. Hanbin had been hurting the first time Jiwon decided that their fight was big enough that he didn’t want to sleep beside Hanbin anymore. He remembers not sleeping any blink that night. Jiwon was ignoring him a few days after that too, and Hanbin was too afraid of rejection to start the conversation. A week after that fateful fight they still didn’t say anything to each other, and then Jiwon needed to fly back to the rig—only leaving him a post-it notes on the fridge.

Hanbin remembers how different it was; Jiwon usually calls or texts him when he’s on the plane and contacts him again in every transit. They would video-call every day, finding time in between Hanbin’s shifts and Jiwon’s working hours in the rig, juggling with time difference and exhaustion they both were feeling. Sometimes Hanbin woke up to multiple texts and voice messages, and he would also send Jiwon the same amount so the latter could wake up to his texts and voice messages too. Hanbin would count down days for Jiwon to come back home, crossing out the calendar on his bedside table every morning after he woke up.

At first, he thought that maybe Jiwon was still quite angry and he would wait for his anger to dissipate a little before contacting him again. He was waiting for days but nothing. After a week without any texts nor calls, Hanbin was worried. Bad thoughts were clouding him—what if Jiwon get hurt again? What if Jiwon was sick? And the thing he’s afraid the most; what if Jiwon was still angry?

After what seemed like the biggest fight they had in their five years relationship—that fateful night, Hanbin felt there were changes in Jiwon. There were apologies, of course, they both had cried when Jiwon came back home after only two weeks in the rig (which he usually would be back after a month). But there was this tension between them that no one really speaks about. Hanbin felt it, and he knows Jiwon felt it too—but neither of them talks about it for the reason Hanbin didn’t really understand.

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“Go back to sleep, I’m sorry, I am just looking for something,”

Hanbin’s mind was clouded with sleep but he can still sense that Jiwon is being so careful. He’s always been a light sleeper but nowadays even the slightest noise can wake him up—and Jiwon is always a little too clumsy when he needs to be quiet. He accidentally closed the bedside drawer too strongly, and when Hanbin opened his eyes, Jiwon was still in kneeling position just beside the bed.

The sun isn’t even out yet, but Jiwon’s hair is wet and there is a towel hanging on his neck. He must be going somewhere, and Hanbin feels that same tug on his heart knowing that now he doesn’t even know where Jiwon is going.

Hanbin pulls himself to a half sitting position while tugging on the comforter to cover up to his neck. Jiwon looks busy shoving things carelessly into his backpack from the drawer. The old Hanbin would probably laugh and comment on it, but now he chooses to just sit there and stares at nothing.

“I need to catch the earliest flight to Ulsan, there’s something I need to take care of,” Jiwon said without looking at Hanbin. He’s now taking off his white shirt only to put on a blue slim-fit button-down shirt—and Hanbin remembers he was the one who bought that.

“Yunhyeong’s birthday party is tonight…,” Hanbin said, almost absentmindedly. He was always the one who reminds Jiwon of every family or friends’ events that he needs to attend. Jiwon easily forget things, and with him moving around a lot from Seoul to Ulsan to the rig in the US, he’d be missing every family event without reminders.

“Oh , I’ve written it down somewhere,” Hanbin can see Jiwon’s shoulders dropped, “I will try to take care of this quickly so I can fly back in the afternoon.”

There is silence after that sentence.

“I will make it this time, OK, I will call him, I promise.”

Hanbin doesn’t say anything. He then grabs his phone just to avert his attention to something else other than Jiwon—who is now already dressed with button shirt and dress pants. If five years ago somebody told Jiwon that he would be wearing this to work, Jiwon would have laughed at them. Maybe Hanbin would too.

But this is where life had brought them—where Jiwon isn’t holding microphones but machines. Where Jiwon flies here and there not for tours, but for meetings. Where Jiwon settles for a half-hearted “I’ll be going” instead of a tight hug and deep kisses.

It’s crazy how Hanbin’s seconds fly so slowly, yet his years bring drastic change to his life.

It’s crazier how Hanbin stays as his same old self—the one who is afraid, the one who runs away. Yet Jiwon moves on and adapt with drastic changes so bravely.

Maybe the brave and quick Jiwon is no match for someone indecisive like Hanbin—and although they have tried aligning that traits for years, there are things that cannot be solved even by time.

When Hanbin hears the front door being shut, he gets up immediately. He needs to be on the mov