Hello! It's actually a pretty frequent update for me ^^ I hope you all didn't wait long <3 

“Envious?”

“Yeah,” I stare pass the window, pass my reflection, and at the scene worth admiring. It was enviable. It made me gag, it made me turn away in disgust but at the same time, I wanted to experience it. I was jealous.

Lunch break can mean a million things for us, university students. It could retain the primal meaning, we eat lunch. But sometimes eating lunch are just mere whispers, not like the screaming voices of datelines, essays, and assignments. To some people though, hunger or the love of food was omnipotent to all, and I was one of those people. 

Though watching Nia and Yoseob, lunch has another meaning. They were both full time students, sleep was a rarity, let alone time spend with others – your friends, your family, your love ones. So, Nia and Yoseob use lunch as time to see each other. There weren’t extravagant dates but they got to see one another and that was enough.

Nia was on her stomach, one hand ready to flip through the pages of her book and the other nestles in Yoseob’s, which is on his chest. He lies on his back, face towards the sky, eyes close and listening to the music from his headphones. They weren’t talking but you could tell that they had some form of communication, just invisible to us and apparent to them. Just lying besides each other, not uttering a single word but they still know what the other is feeling, with just one touch, it revealseverything. 

It was enviable.

“Here’s your order,” Dongwoon returned. I stared at the cup of brown liquid.

“Dongwoon, this isn’t my order.” I’ve been here for almost three years now; I can smell the difference between espresso and hot chocolate. “I usually order espresso.”

“You have a sore throat and you’re coughing. You shouldn’t be ordering coffee, so I changed it to hot chocolate,” he replied, and took a seat across from me.

I smiled, thankful that he cared. “Thanks but the coffee keeps me awake.”

“What you need is sleep.”

I laugh, sleep is what I lack. Though, I don’t mind. Sleep is something precious. Spending time with Hyunseung is also something precious. It was like an exchange, something precious for something precious. It was worth it.

“It still has that fancy latte art,” he points, and I notice it. There was a flower in the midst of the foam. It was prettified with an intricate circle bordering it. The efforts easily showed and I felt a surge to not drink it. Art can’t be ruined. I can’t ruin art. 

“Did you make it?” I ask, and he smiles bashfully.

“You’re good; you could give Seulong a run for his job.” I banter, and I hear Seulong protesting in the background. I laugh a little.

“You seem a lot happier,” his chin settles – quite comfortably – on his palm.

I stop smiling, and notice how my cheeks are getting sore from the sudden pull. It was almost instinct to smile now, normal even. A normalcy I never had. 

“I guess I am.” I stare at Dongwoon, timidly playing with his hair. He was like a child, but at times, a mature adult, older than me even. He rarely acted his age though, but today I got to see it. “Dongwoon, do you have a girlfriend?”

He stops, surprise for a split second. He then turns red, bright red at his ears, a slight blush on his cheeks. It was rather cute, and at times like this, I knew that Dongwoon would have been a nice little brother. “Don’t worry, I’m not interested.”

“Your lost.” He cheekily grins, “But no, I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“If you did, she would be really lucky. You’re wonderful.”

“Stop flattering me,” his hand brushes away at the air, as if it could brush away the embarrassment.

“You like it,” and his smile widens because it was true. Everyone likes to be flatter, whether the words were honest or not, it feels nice. Watching Dongwoon smiling so gleefully, I notice how charming he is. With his chisel face, sharp jaw line, and height, working here definitely didn’t give him justice.

“Like a flower—” He gestures towards the art, “I hope a smile will bloom on your face, but it looks like my efforts are futile.” He looks sad for a second.

I smile even wider, “It’s not futile, what am I doing right now?”

“Smiling.”

“See.”

“Airiss—” I look up, “Do you have a boyfriend?”

I tried to stay calm, I tried to control the bubbles, and I tried to hide the smile. It didn’t work. “No.”

He wiggled his brows, “You’re blushing.”

“I’m not.”

“Liar.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” I took a sip of the hot chocolate and watched as the flower soon became a distorted mess.

“Then you probably have someone you like.”

I look at Dongwoon who seems particularly interested in pursuing this topic. “I don’t either but you’re not going to give up, are you?”

He shook his head, “You’re lying.”

“Don’t tell me you’re interested.” I watch as he straightens up at the remark.

“I’m not. I’m just saying your future boyfriend needs to learn how to make you smile.” I a brow at him.

“You don’t smile often but you’re beautiful when you do.”

 

“Why is our picture here?” I ask, my voice high and my knowledge limited.

“You don’t think it looks nice?” Dad asks, holding up the picture frame. It was a picture of us at the zoo last week when we were all at the dolphin show. We weren’t all looking at the camera, but we were laughing, smiling, even squealing at the dolphin as it splashes water at us. It wasn’t picture perfect, wasn’t magazine worthy but it perfectly depicts our family, our happy family.

“I think we look happy,” I look at it, “But we’re not all looking at the camera."

“Come here,” he gestures, and I walk over, curious.

“Smile,” he says, raising a camera up, and I smile as he makes a funny face. There was a flash. He brings the camera down, and he smiles, satisfied. He brings it down lower, face-levele to me and I see the picture. Dad doesn’t look perfect, he wasn’t like those models, but he was happy. I didn’t look at the camera but I was laughing, really happily at my dorky father.

“Don’t we look happy?” he asks, and I nod, vigorously.

“The good things about pictures are that they capture the emotions of that moment. They capture the happiness, we don’t have to be posing like models for it to be perfect, just being ourselves is enough,” he pats me on the head and I start to understand him a little—to the full capacity of what a ten year old could possibly understand. “So, as long as we’re happy, it doesn’t matter.”

I hold the camera, staring at the screen. “I think we’re missing something though,” Something very important, something we can’t miss.

“What is it?”

“We look happy, but I think we need Mom and Doojoon for us to be really happy.” He smiles, proud. He pats me again, and he has this pleased smile on, as if the world is his.

I smiled back at him, blissfully because I felt that the world was mine.

I wake up at the sudden jerk of the bus as it stops. I look past the window and see the yellow sign of sunshine, the daycare I was supposed to be at five minutes ago. I hurriedly got off and ran towards that burst of sunshine.

“You seem out of it,” Gayoon notes as she waves her hand in front my face.

“I had a dream and it’s been bothering me, that’s it.”

“A nightmare or a dream?”

“It wasn’t a nightmare. I was happy in that dream, but it wasn’t a good dream either,” I sort out the markers from lightest to darkest and notice how there seems to be more darker colors than the lighter ones.

“A bittersweet one?” she says. I nod, that sounds right.

“Where’s Sangryu?” I look around the room. Like a chameleon, he blended in with his surroundings and had a choice whether he wanted to be seen or not. I went through the same thing, and notice him, almost immediately. He wasn’t in the corner like I expected, but he was just sitting on the desk and staring at the surface. The specks of dirt, the leftovers from the other kids.

“He’s pretty artistic, well when he isn’t scribbling all over it,” Gayoon says, and pictures of his artwork come to mind. Some were pretty, breathtaking for a five year old, but sometimes they were scratched out, scribbled all over with a black pen, black marker, anything black. It was strange.

“Yeah, he’s a special case.”

“But I feel like something’s holding him back. I’ve never seen him smile or frown, it’s just that blank face.”

“Blunted affect,” I whisper. As the words slid off my tongue, the definition of it came into my mind. A person who has trouble showing their emotions or sometimes, they don’t show it at all. It could be considered a symptom of schizophrenia.

“What?”

“Nothing.” I shook my head slightly. School’s getting to me, not everything was related to Psychology, and not everyone was psychologically crazy. I tried to believe that. Tried.

Suddenly, the kids cheer at the appearance of someone. I looked up and smiled. “The magician is here.” He greets Gayoon then me. When he says hello, he pulls a flower from behind my ear. I laugh and accept it.

Sometimes, kids needed to believe that there was such thing as magic, almost as much as happiness. I wanted to believe that, that magic existed. 

He doesn’t smile, he doesn’t frown, it’s just that blank face. Gayoon’s words resonated, and I almost believed it because it was true. As everyone laughed, as a smile snuck its way to my face, I found myself staring at Sangryu, his blank face. He didn’t smile, didn’t frown, but he just stared at the magician, in boredom. It wasn’t exaggerated boredom or a mocking boredom, but more like a lost at what to feel.

It was interesting, really, but at the same time, strange, too strange. Too strange for a five year old to not have any response to this magician’s act, it was funny, worth laughing at. He’s a special case. Definitely a special case. 

After the magician finished, I strolled over to Sangryu, who was still sitting in his spot. “Sangryu, did you like the show?”

“Yes, it was funny,” his voice monotonous, and blank. For a moment, I would have thought that he was being sarcastic, but he wasn’t. Children didn’t learn the malice of sarcasm yet.

“Did you find it funny?” I ask, smiling extra wide, and he shows no response. Smiles are contagious, they spread pretty fast. He’s looking at me but I feel like he’s looking past me, or through me, trying to find bits of me that could help him.

“I found it funny.” I frowned, but he doesn’t look affected, he seemingly didn’t care.

“Did you smile? The kind that shows off your pretty white teeth?”

“I tried.” He stands up and walks away, certainly not towards the other kids but to sit alone, at the desk staring at the surface. The specks of dirt, the leftovers from the other kids.

I would have liked time to stop, to let me marvel in the moment, but it wasn’t that nice. Sometimes, marveling wasn’t given; sometimes we just wanted to reach into our ourselves, to feel ourselves, living, pulsing, breathing.

I listen as the chorus of good-bye and see you soon part their lips. The kids held hands with their parents, their guardians, their love ones, and they smiled, laughed as they walked off. I stared, in envy.

“You seem to take a liking to Sangryu.” Gayoon says, staring at me with those eyes again. The eyes that’s always searching for something – anything that could give her a clue to my lost look. I meet these eyes very often and learn, or rather force myself to look straight into them. Let her see what she can find.

“He reminds me of someone.”

Myself. 

I never notice how soft the texture of the couch is, not until today, when I sit on it for hours. I browse through the pictures, flipping through the pages.

There was this pull after I finished my homework, after I was done studying; the pull told me to take a break and find it, and I did. I went through my closet, through the clothes, through the boxes, and venture into the farthest side, the darkest side, a side I almost forgot existed. I found it, with much difficulty. It was collecting dust, a lot of dust, from the years of being forgotten and stored away.

I found myself looking at the pictures, far much longer than the norm. Usually, they would skim through; look at the moments and then the next page. I didn’t skim; I tried to remember the moments. I wonder how it happen, why it happen, when it happen. The word, family on the spine seems so unfamiliar.

I hear my phone ringing. I place the book down; it got caught with my arm warmers, out of my brashness. The phone continue to ring, it was probably Kerin or Nia.

“Hey, you up for some pool?” Kerin’s voice rings and I contemplate for a while. I look back at the photo album and the phone.

“Sure, I need to go out anyway.”To breathe, to forget. 

“Meet us at the old place.” I nodded and hung up. The present is here and I can deal with the past later. It’s not going to run away, it already happened. 

The teacher smiles warmly at me as he hands back the test. I stare at it. My hands tremble, it suddenly feels heavy. I purse my lip. A dream I wasn’t convivial about and the test results I didn’t expect. This week is not a good week.

The back of my hand goes to wipe the bead of sweat. I look at the patch of sweat on my arm warmers; it wasn’t noticeable but was still gross. My hands grew tired and sore from the rough texture of the mop or it was because I held onto it for too long and far too tightly. I was tired, fatigue was growing. I dumped the mop into the bucket and stared at the water, the bubbles made of cleaning liquid that was said to clean the floors, to make them sparkle, to make them shine. I need to clean it, I need to make it sparkle, I need it to shine.

I hear something go off, it sounded like a jingle but I wasn’t sure. I wasn’t listening. Then it went on again, like some knocks, and it was coming from the door.

“Hello,” he leaned in, and I smiled. Ever since Hyunseung came in to borrow some clothes, he became a regular visitor. I found it queer. He wasn’t someone I disliked, but rather, I found it weird how I grew close to him, how I warmed up so fast to him. Like a kitten snuggling closer to the soft comfort of their owner. Except, I wasn’t sure if I was the kitten or the owner.

“Hello,” I left the door, and he closed it, confused. “Is something wrong?”

I shrug, “No.” I grab the mop again and notice how it was heavier now that it’s filled with water.

I could tell that he’s rolling his eyes with that exasperated expression of his. “Really, it’s nothing.”

I go back to mopping, here and there. I hear footsteps towards the sink, water running then it stops. The footsteps return, and I hear him drop to his knees, scrubbing the floor with a wet cloth.

“What are you doing?” I ask, stopping.

“Since you’re not going to tell me, and you’re so incline to clean the house, I might as well help,” he replies, still cleaning in bubbled circles.

I stopped mopping, I stopped breathing. I didn’t break, I just rested. “I don’t know Hyunseung, I just feel sad.”

I could probably guess what that tugging feeling was. So many things happened this week. Sangryu. “It’s partially about the test,” I lied and gestured to it. Partially. But it was probably something else; I just refused to accept that there was something else. I didn’t want to confront it, to acknowledge that such a thing existed because it shouldn’t. He walks over and I hear the shuffling of papers.

“It’s a wonderful mark.”

“My mark isn’t good enough, I don’t get it,” I drop to my knees and study the intricate floor lines. They travel up and down; there were different shades of brown. “I study, long and hard but the marks show something otherwise. It doesn’t make sense.”

Hyunseung lands somewhere beside me, his hands support him as he leans back, and laughs. “So that was the problem.”

I stare at him, strangely. “I thought it was something serious like you failed your course or you lost connection to your brother, but this—” he swings the paper in the air, “Is amazing. Trust me.”

I inch closer, involuntarily of my mind but completely voluntarily of my heart. “It’s pretty good, but I don’t know, I want to aim higher, I need to aim higher.”

“For your brother?”

I nod. Doojoon still sends me money for rent, for living necessaries, but I didn’t use it, I couldn’t use it. So I worked and worked. I needed to earn the money for me to live, to earn money for school. Even if I had a scholarship, it might come to use. I want to show Doojoon that I’m doing well here, that I’m independent, that I don’t need him supporting me. I want to show him my marks, my achievements but they were more like failures. They’re nothing compare to his marks in school. He balanced things really well. It’s not surprising though, he’s been doing it his whole life; it was almost second nature. 

“I wonder how he’s doing,” I stare at the ceiling; as if a screen would appear, and would show me what he’s doing, how well he is right now, and if he is well.

“He’s probably doing well,” he interjects, and offers a smile. “So, is there anything else bothering—”

“Speaking of marks, how were yours in school?” I ask too quickly, on purpose.

Now that the test burden was taken off, I felt lighter, just a little bit lighter. I could still feel the weight of something else; I couldn’t drop it and run away. If I told him, It wouldn’t get lighter; it would grow heavier. So I did what I always do—which wasn’t a lot—I changed the topic, I hid, I ran away.

I watch as his eyes grow distant and he goes deep in thought. “I never liked school, well—” he stops thinking, and I see hurt and unwanted memories crashing in. “I think if I studied what I liked, then maybe my marks would have been better and I would have found school more enjoyable.”

I remembered that he studied business. Like my initial thought, he always seems like an artistic person, rather than a math person. “What did you like then?”

“I liked photography, but I don’t know, I didn’t think it could be much of a future.” He shrugged, his face deadpan. “I guess I just took business because I somewhat liked it, and it was okay.”

“You don’t seem happy,” I cross my arms, staring deeper into his eyes and he sighs.

“I am happy,” two of his fingers draw a grin on his face. I could tell that he was lying. 

He had secrets that he didn’t want to tell, I respect that. Everyone has secrets that they want to stay hidden. I had secrets that no one knew about, it was hard, tiring even to keep them but it hurts to think about it, let alone talk about it. So I didn’t connive anything, I let him keep it. If we’re close enough, maybe he’ll tell me. Maybe.

I look down on my shirt and see the flower sticker Dongwoon gave me – as a reminder to smile. I took it off and stuck it on his cheek. He looks at it, peels it off and his eyes asks me questions.

“And like this flower, I hope a smile will bloom on your face."

He smiles, weakly, but it’s still a smile. “You’re so cliché.”

I smile dotingly, and he looks at me. “You need this for your test,” he sticks it on my cheek.

“The test’s already over, you might need it more.” I paste it back on his cheek.

He shakes his head, “I already graduated so there’s no need for this.” He puts it back on my cheek but it falls on the floor.

I watch as it falls, “It’s not sticky anymore.”

“It’s your fault, you should have just taken it,” he stares at it too.

“So, you already graduated, how old are you?” I looked at him from head to toe, he can’t be younger than 20 or older than 25, so he’s around my age. His personality tells me otherwise but everyone’s personality is different from their age, they were either too mature or immature, and rarely, their personality is tantamount to his age. 

He took a certain predilection to the question. “What do you think?”

“I think you’re around 52,” I look at him, with the same predilection and he rolls his eyes.

“I might as well be a e then since you’re like five,” he chastises and I pinch his nose.

“You’re funny.”

“You’re funnier,” he retorts back.

“So seriously, how old?”

“23.”

“You just turned 23 or you’re turning 24?”

“Either way, I’m older than you.” He smirks, happy at my flustered face. 

“How do you know?”

“Your yearbook,” he points to the stack of it. I notice how they were out of order. He saw my little frown and defends himself, “You told me to make myself at home — Ow”

He rubs his arm. “I just turned 23.”

“One year younger,” I mutter. This glint flash by, a mischievous one, one I didn’t like nor was I looking forward too.

“You should call me oppa,” he keeps a straight face, and I keep a straight face as I give him another punch.

Days go by, and sometimes it seems like it didn’t. Not when you’re having fun.

“Let me help you with your homework then,” he said, planting his feet on the ground, as I try to push him out the door.

“Hyunseung, you need to leave, it’s getting late,” I add more force but he resists. “Plus, you don’t even know Psychology.” 

“Moral support then,” he says, and quickly moves out of the way. I almost fall, but I steady myself and glare at him while trying to suppress the laughter. What moral support could one possibly need to do homework? “I always wanted to learn about Psychology anyway, let me read your textbook.”

“I think it’s just an excuse for you to stay.” I see him smile, but it didn’t ooze of pleasure or mischief like it usually did, it was an unreadable one.

“I want to stay.” He pouts, rather cutely and I roll my eyes in defeat. I can’t kick him out —I didn’t have the heart to.

“I think you like the free food,” I cheekily comment and he rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, I like instant noodles.”

Hyunseung was like Yoseob, when there was something worth talking about, they took the opportunity to comment, rant and even expand on it. Sometimes, it was unnecessary but it was only shown to people who they found comfort in.

“This is like learning a new language,” he complains, his eyes skimming the page. “What is thalamus or prefrontal lobotomy?”

“Psychology has biological terms as well but it’s not that hard to remember.” I place the coffee mug in front of him. I stare at him, drinking while looking at the textbook. He look liked he was studying, too meticulously. He looks different for a second, serious almost like someone I didn’t recognize. It doesn’t match him, but I know it’s just a side I never saw before and it just needs time for me to get use to it. Sometimes when we talk, he shows this side, not amply though. 

He notices me staring, “Do I look weird?”

“No, you just look different.”

I woke up, with an ache, or more like aches everywhere. It felt like mold, it kept growing, spreading uncontrollably. I groan and sit up. I notice that I’m on my couch and remember last night’s events. Doing homework while Hyunseung was reading about Psychology late into the night, but he wasn’t here right now. Well, I didn’t expect him to stay but I found a part of me wishing that he did.

I stretch my neck a little to look into the kitchen and notice that the mugs were all wash and put away. The textbooks were stacked on the coffee table, and I notice a little note with considerably messy handwriting on top. 

Thanks for the food and textbook. I had fun; don’t worry about your marks, you’re trying and that’s enough. Your brother is probably really proud of you.

-Hyunseung.

P.S. I locked the door for you; the keys are in the red flower pot.
P.S.S. Look at the back of your hand.

I sighed. Hyunseung couldn’t be a little — just a little bit more sane — and put the keys in the mailbox or something.

In the next 20 minutes, I found myself crouch outside my house, in front of the red flower pot with a small shovel and gloves. The flowers inhabiting the pot look back at me, it’s pretty, well-grown, and nourish. I the petals, in envy, in awe. It’s beautiful, but I think my flower’s more beautiful. My gaze lands on the flower on the back of my hand and I smile. 

There are some bits and bits of hints here and there, and hopefully, some caught on ^^ I personally like this fanfic because I get to delve more into the psychology field which I find is so interesting and so complicating at times ;A; 

Also, shout out to my old readers, where are you T-T? Like I don't know if I should still pm or not about updates . __ . It feels like I'm pestering you guys T-T 

Zammsammy: Thank you for your comment ^-^ and I'm glad you like the update :)

janale6: Thank you for your encouragement ^^ I'm glad you like the story so far and for commenting ^^