Everything which reminded me of my childhood fit in a shoebox, which was safely tucked away inside my closet. All it contained were handwritten letters, drawings, and a single picture. A stolen shot of six teenagers, with their backs the camera. They all stood by the shore, watching the sunset, with their hands resting on one another’s shoulders. The setting was incongruent to the formal suits they were wearing.

   From time to time, I would open it and sift through its contents. Not because I wanted those days back. However, I didn’t want to forget, either.

   I was in the process of reading one of the letters when a knock came to my door. It was Dahyun.

   “Come over,” she said.

   “But your parents are there.”

   She smiled. “That’s why you should come over.”

   It felt strange. Foreign, even. For someone to be willing to involve me in their world instead of hiding me.

   “Why?” I blurted out.

   Dahyun paused, and cocked her head to a side. “Why not?”

   “You don’t know me that well.”

   “You don’t know me that well, either,” she shot back. “But I want you to. So, I’m inviting you over.”

   And that was that.

-::-

   Dahyun had her father’s eyes, and her mother’s smile. I wasn’t surprised where she got her fair complexion from—they both had milky-white skin. My neighbor boldly introduced me as her friend, Kim Namjoon: the office worker who drilled her hanging shelf into the living room wall.

   “We’ve been hearing so many good things about you,” Mr. Kim said. “Thank you for looking after our daughter.”

   “N-No,” I stammered. “She’s always been a good neighbor, as well. We’re lucky to have her here.”

   I expected awkward conversations, but they never came. I anticipated for her parents to ask me about my childhood, but not a single question came up. Instead, they asked me about my hobbies. Admittedly, it felt very strange, considering the society I was in was so much into the status quo and having a name for yourself. If you’re neither rich nor intelligent, you should at least look good physically.

   “I don’t really have one,” I admitted. “Or perhaps, I did. It’s just I couldn’t find the time to do it.”

   I was quite surprised to be that open to them. Had it been other people, I would have dodged the question easily. Yet somehow, I felt like being vague to them seemed unfair.

   “Then what was it?” Mrs. Kim urged.

   I smiled sheepishly as I interlocked my fingers. “Writing songs.”

   Dahyun’s eyes widened. “I would love to hear them.”

   “I’m not good at thinking up of melodies. That’s—” my voice trailed off, and they all looked at me. I shook my head. “Nothing.”

   That’s Yoongi’s expertise, was what I was supposed to say, but something held me back. As much as possible, I didn’t want my connections to intersect. I was neither brave nor open.

   “It’s a very nice talent to nurture,” Mr. Kim began. “It’s unfortunate you can’t find the time for it.”

   “Hm.”

   “But you know,” he continued. “It’s something I’ve learned through the years: there’s a huge difference between finding time, and making time for something.”

   There it was again. That analogy. I didn’t have to wonder anymore as to where Dahyun inherited that kind of thinking: putting two similar words together, and dissecting them to create a context of her own.

   We played games after that while having tea. It was only for a short while, but being able to spend time with them, I somewhat understood why Dahyun turned out the way she was. She was constantly surrounded by warmth and kindness. I then began to ponder if I would become another person altogether if I grew up in an actual home with real parents. Would I be more trusting and open?

   At one point, we played a few rounds of hangman. When Mrs. Kim’s turn came, I noticed something about her handwriting, but didn’t comment on it.

-::-

   “How was it?” Dahyun asked, when her parents left. They wanted to do the dishes before going, but their daughter somehow won the argument, leaving us standing in front of the sink. She washed and rinsed, while I wiped and placed the cutleries in the drying rack.

   “It was better than I expected,” I admitted. “Thank you for inviting me.”

   She laughed. “You’re not used to interacting with adults, are you?”

   “I’m not used to interacting in general.”

   “And yet, here we are.”

   “You’re stubborn, that’s why.”

   “That makes two of us, then.” she returned, before playfully sticking her tongue out. “But thank you, as well.”

   “For what?”

   “For trusting us.”

   “You have a good family,” I remarked. “It’s easy to trust you.”

   And at that time, I meant it. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t jealous of Dahyun, because I was. Even for just one day, I wanted to experience her childhood. It must have been nice, waking up to that kind of household, and having that kind of freedom. I prided myself for being firm, but Dahyun’s incandescent gentleness always seemed to have an effect on me. I wondered how it would feel like if I were as fearless as her when it came to being soft.

   “Sometimes,” she said. “My family’s too good.”

   I looked at Dahyun.

   “Or maybe,” she carried on. “It’s just me, not being understanding enough.”

   I didn’t reply.

   She called out my name, which prompted me to respond, “What is it?”

   “If your parents doted on another child despite having you, would you be jealous?”

   I felt this uncomfortable prickling in my heart which traveled up my throat. I held my breath for a moment, and I tightened the grip on the slippery plate I was holding.

   “I can’t really say,” I admitted with a sigh. “I was never in that kind of situation.”

   “It’s very tempting to open up to you,” she smiled. “But I don’t want to burden you.”

   “Are you holding back?”

   “I’m simply testing the waters. You do it all the time, don’t you?”

   At times, I wondered if Dahyun was aware of the weight of her words, and if she was intentional in phrasing her sentences that way or not. Somehow, her seemingly nonchalant smile felt like a façade every now and then. Maybe her doubts regarding her standing as a daughter had deeper roots than I thought.

   “It’s a bad habit of mine,” I said. “Testing the waters.”

-::-

   I rarely read webtoons, but a certain artist captured my attention: Chul. His art style wasn’t elaborate. In fact, it leaned more on simplicity. However, his words were something else. The writing and art, when together, somehow reminded me of The Little Prince, only with a darker twist. Funnily enough, I learned about him through Suji, all because she would read webtoons whenever she was free. It was a hobby she never lost, I suppose. When we were still in high school, she would pass the time reading comics by hiding it behind a textbook.

   His plotline wasn’t linear, and it took me some time to get used to it. However, the things he would talk about in his comic always seemed relevant, and occasionally, he would approach the topic with tongue in cheek. If he ever did publish a book, I would buy it in a heartbeat.

   I had just finished reading the latest chapter he uploaded when I decided to look into my shoebox again. The memories inside were simultaneously the worst and best days of my life. I read the letters, which were mostly from our sponsors. It would have been conceited of me, and it wasn’t like I had the right to choose, but I did—subconsciously—play favorites. I liked my sponsors, but a certain couple stood out to me. Funnily enough, I had forgotten their faces. But the words they had told me through pen and paper were inevitably instilled within me. It would be too much of a stretch, but they had a huge impact on my choices. I wouldn’t end up having this kind of mindset and independence if it weren’t for them.

   And yet, I never found the courage to search for them. It was out of fear. I had forgotten their faces. It wouldn’t be impossible for them to forget me, as well.

-::-

   My workplace didn’t only contain my department. It may have been out of convenience, but we shared the building with a local newspaper company. The journalists were on the floor above us, while the editors occupied the other half of our open plan office. One person seemed to stand out among the journalists, and it wasn’t difficult to figure out why. His name was Myungsoo. Kim Myungsoo. He was around the same height as me, but his features were sharp, especially his eyes. He rarely talked and smiled, and some found this trait of him problematic. Colleague B always remarked on how handsome Myungsoo was, but his fashion sense was lacking.

   “He’s easy on the eyes, and he reminds me of you, Namjoon,” she said, before hovering her open palm from her shoulder to her thighs. “But his clothes…”

   To Myungsoo’s defense, Colleague A piped in, “He always works on site. With stakeouts and everything else do you expect him to wear stiff suits?”

   “But he should at least consider the image of his workplace. Who would take us seriously if he walks around wearing ramen-stained hoodies and jogging pants? This is an office, not a dorm. Isn’t that right, Namjoon?”

   I glanced at Colleague B. “This is an office, you’re right.”

   She smiled at Colleague A smugly.

   “So I don’t get why you have to talk about him like that,” I carried on. “It’s not like we’re in high school. You’re quite bold to say such things. Will he go out with you, though? You have good taste in clothes, but here…” I mirrored her gesture from earlier, but I pointed at my knees first, then paused when my index finger reached my face, before shaking my head.

   “Namjoon…” Colleague B muttered.

   I smiled. “Sorry, was I too harsh? At least I say it in your face, right?”

   Colleague B stayed quiet, but the way she tapped on her keyboard showed I had upset her. For some odd reason, I didn’t care at all. It wasn’t a secret to me that most of my colleagues found me insufferable, and it was merely out of necessity that they remained civil towards me.

-::-

   It was Saturday when Suji invited me over to her house for barbecue. Haneul was with his tutor and to save time, we decided to go grocery shopping. I told Suji about what had happened in the office, and she shrugged.

   “You can be a really good friend,” she said. “And you’re very smart. But you lack social cues at times.”

   “I was simply being honest,” I pointed out.

   “You have to be tactful, too,” she returned. “I’m not saying you should sugarcoat your words, and it would’ve been fine if you and your colleague were close. I swear that crassness of yours will bite you back soon. It’s a good thing you weren’t reported to HR.”

   “Hm.”

   “It’s strange, though,” Suji took a pack of ramen from the shelf and placed it in the trolley. “You usually keep your head down. What made you speak up?”

   “I got fed up, I guess.”

   “You do have a tipping point,” she smiled. “That’s good to know.”

   “Pardon?”

   “That makes you human.”

   “What are you implying?”

   “I’m just saying,” she began. “That you have the habit of bottling things up. People have a difficult time deciphering you, and it could get frustrating at times.”

   “Have I ever frustrated you?”

   She paused, and grinned. “You have no idea.”

   “I suppose things are simpler for you at work,” I said. “You’re more outgoing than me.”

   “I’m a single mother who gave birth at a young age. You should meet my seniors. You’d love the things they say about me.”

   “How do you cope, then?”

   “I let them talk. They’re wrong, anyway.”

   I smirked. “Chic.”

   “I got it from someone.”

   “Someone, huh?”

   Suji looked up thoughtfully. “A convenience store buddy, perhaps?”

   “You don’t seem too sure.”

   “I don’t really know what to call him, but he exists. He makes my graveyard shifts bearable.”

   “And his name?”

   Suji playfully scrunched her nose. “We never asked one another.”

   “Don’t you want to know?”

   “That opens more doors, so no.”

   She was kind and easygoing, but she surrounded herself with high walls.

   “Just date someone already,” I murmured.

   That earned me a crisp slap on the shoulder. “You’re one to talk.”