“My dad left us when I was eight.  I don’t really remember much about him, and it wasn’t really so bad without him around.  We were okay, you know?  I mean, my mom’s family was pretty well off, so it wasn’t a big deal.  We were okay.”

                He didn’t say anything for a while, but I didn’t push him.  He seemed to be gathering himself for what was to come.

                He told me about how beautiful his mother was—smooth skin, silky hair, smiling eyes.  He told me about her struggle with depression, about watching her pop pills and strike with mood swings.  He told me about how she tried to stay strong, how she would only smile when looking at the stars.  He told me about the sudden news of his father’s death pushing her over the edge, about moving here to get away from it all.  He told me about her descent into silence, how she treated him like a stranger.  About his discovery when he came home from school one day.  About walking into the hallway and seeing the empty bottle of antidepressants on the floor.

                Pulling open the bathroom door and seeing her long gone beneath still, clear water.

                He told me about refusing to sell the house.  He told me about being sent off to his grandparents’, about his grandmother walking in on him cutting.  About being shipped off again to a psychiatric hospital, how they then sent him to another for “uncontrollable behavior.”  About lying to the new psychiatrist and slapping a smile onto his face.  About hating high school as he walked back into real life.  Coming back just to be a thousand miles away from what little family he had left.

                His eyes bore into my cheek when he finished, waiting for a reaction.  I sat motionless and I swear, I couldn’t feel a bone in my body as I stared at the floor.

                “Say something,” he almost pleaded.

                Abruptly, I seized his wrist and dragged him out of the room, out of the house, into my car.

                “Sehun.”

                He shut up when I hit the gas, and I admit, it was probably unnecessary to speed in a residential area to get to Jongin’s house, which was five minutes away, but I had to get rid of the churning in my stomach.  I burst through the door, the music immediately filling my ears, and with Luhan’s wrist still in mine, I climbed the stairs.  As we approached the attic, I pulled the handle down from the ceiling, exposing the set of stairs.

                “Go,” I commanded.  It was the first word I’d said in that hour.  Luhan took the steps cautiously, ducking into the small space, and I followed closely.

                He cleared his throat.  “It’s, uh, it’s really dark in here.”

                “I know.”  I sounded like a goddamn serial killer, my voice rough with lack of use.

                “What are we—”

                With my hands on his shoulders, I guided him to the large window on the slanted wall.

                “Sehun.”

                “Yeah?”

                “I can’t see .”

                “That’s the point.”

                He narrowed his eyes at me.  “If this is some stupid ploy to get me all vulnerable and and then take advantage of me in a ing attic—”

                “Just wait.”

                I pushed the glass open, seated myself on the floor, and patted the space beside me, gesturing for him to take the spot.  Just as he settled onto the floor, I took his hand into mine.

                “What are we waiting for?”  I didn’t miss the catch in his voice when I squeezed my palm against his.

                “That.”  I pointed up into the sky at the first lone star surrounded by blackness, and we gazed at it for a few minutes.  “It’s you.”

                He turned and stared at me as if I were insane.  “What?”

                “That star right there.  It’s you.”

                He locked his jaw, speaking in a tone just above a whisper.  “It’s alone.”

               “No.”  The other stars slowly began to show.  “That one—that’s your mom.  That one over there—that’s your dad.  That one,” I glanced over at him, “that’s me, right there next to you.”

                It wasn’t until then that I realized he was sniffling beside me, digging his fingers into my knuckles.

                “I’m sorry.  I can’t—”

                “Hey, Luhan, it’s okay.  C’mere.”  He crawled into my arms like a little boy, gripping at the back of my shirt.  “Everything will be okay again.  I won’t let you hurt yourself anymore.  I promise.”