xxvii. When Trust Is Enough, When Trust Is Everything

Three more weeks passed just like that. Time never seemed so fleeting before. You always seemed to have too much of it. You always seemed to have enough of it. And yet, it was May 1^st already. Graduation was on the 14^th of June. A date set in stone now that the school board had decided to finalize their decision regarding the cancellation of Spring break. As Minah had said that day at lunch, there was an extra week of Winter Break anyway.

February was gone. March seemed to never come in the first place. April felt so far away despite it ending just yesterday.

You couldn’t help but wonder if your life would have moved this fast without pausing if you hadn’t met the werewolves. But, it wasn’t the first time you wondered such a thing. Yet, it was a wonder you would always shoot down before it even began its launch sequence. Because that wasn’t an option at this point. And it most certainly wasn’t an option you wanted.

Werewolves. Hunters. Elites.

Your life was like a fairytale. To think such stories could exist past the ink on paper, past the pages of a book, was unthinkable to begin with. So, why think about it any longer? It wasn’t a fairytale, it was your reality.

A reality that, while you had accepted it long ago, was still settling into the mind of the woman sitting in the living room as you made your way down the stairs this foggy Monday morning: your mother. She wasn’t so ignorant to not know the werewolves, the fourteen boys she disliked with a burning passion, returned this past February – though she didn’t know exactly what they were. Whether she heard it through the grapevine or simply observed the difference in your everyday patterns that had you coming home late and leaving home earlier, she knew. She simply hadn’t said a word regarding them to you yet. As though she were waiting for you to tell her yourself.

But, you couldn’t today. Why? Maybe you were scared. Maybe you were worried. Maybe you were hopeful. Maybe you were all three at once. All you knew is that today didn’t feel right. When would it? When would the day that “felt right” come along? You didn’t know the answer to that question.

But, you knew one thing. One thing that never changed, even if it were due to baseline filial bonds. One thing that never changed no matter what she said or did and no matter what you said or did in return.

“I love you.”

You called out, your hand on the brass doorknob of the front door, your body leaning back in order to see the back of her well groomed head of brown hair, pulled back into a loose bun. You had taken to saying those three words lately. Each morning and night for the past three weeks, you confessed your love to your own mother. What prompted the sudden declarations that went unanswered over and over yet still persevered?

It was Myungsoo’s fault.

He always was the easy one to blame.

You waited a moment, not expecting a reply but wanting to wait anyway. Maybe because you were scared. Worried. Hopeful. But, there was only silence as she flipped a page in the daily morning newspaper, not flinching in the least. Not even glancing over her shoulder in the least. But, that was okay. No matter how many times you said it, no matter how many times she remained silent as your words echoed into the distance, disappearing somewhere in the foggy Spring mornings of Springfield, you would keep saying it.

Because you meant it.

It was Myungsoo’s fault.

It was Myungsoo’s fault that this was the only way you felt capable of letting her know how much you loved her. How you would never run away from her. How she would always be your mother, even if you did just as he had. How you would always love her.

As you continued to wait, you caught sight of the digital clock underneath the television. You were running late. You threw her one last glance before opening the door and slipping on your shoes. “I’m leaving,” you announced, one foot out the door, over the threshold of the house you shared with your mother, the house that was to be hers and your own second chance, when you heard it.

It rang through the air, lingering there even as it echoed through the house. Echoing in your head even as you closed the door behind you, your lips hitching upwards. 

“I love you, too.”

And you wondered again, something you seemed a bit too good at.

Had Myungsoo ever heard those four precious words? Those four words that were as fleeting as time itself?

It was a question that would remain unanswered as the buzzing of your phone in your pocket caught your attention. You slipped you hand in, pulling it out and checking the number marked, “Library Guy.” You had considered saving his number as “Creepy Guy” – since he called himself that – and even as “Mind.” The latter of those names seemed to suit him best. How so? That’s all he was really. One giant, big mind. You knew him and yet at the same time you knew nothing at all. It was aggravating. Annoying. And at the same time, enticing. Your curiosity was always your strong point, be it for better or for worse.

Besides, wouldn’t it be funny to think to yourself, “Oh, look, the mind is calling”? Perhaps you would change it after all. That is, after you read and responded to the text message temporary “Library Guy” had sent you.  It surely wasn’t going to be something normal such as “Good Morning” or “How are you feeling today?” It wasn’t, but you couldn’t help but hope it would be. You couldn’t help but hope it said anything but what it did.  

Cha Hakyeon’s text message read, “Meet me at the library.” He didn’t need to add anymore for you to know that he meant now. Now and not later. Now and not sooner.

You responded with the obvious, “I have school today. I’m not skipping again.”

Seconds later, as though his fingers worked as fast as that conniving mind of his did, his reply was, “Am I or am I not doing you a favor?”

He had you. You were stuck. You were trapped in his mind once more.

Not the best time to be so as the soft twinkling of a bell in front of you caused you to look up and lock eyes with the tall werewolf with the big smile: Lee Sungyeol. He was on his bike, about to offer you something that sounded much better than going anywhere near the library.

“Want a ride?”

“No way.”

“Why not?”

“Go away.”

“It’s not like you don’t have room.”

Sungyeol’s bicycle jerked to a stop, causing your head to go hitting against his back due to the whiplash incurred. However, despite popular belief, you weren’t the one who was the cause of the sudden action. You weren’t the one whose words caused Sungyeol’s upper lip to curve upwards, a set of clenched teeth snarling. Growling at the person who was the cause of his current feelings of frustration.

Sungjong.

Sungjong, who had – as Sungyeol put it when he tried to speed away after first discovering him casually standing beside the stop sign of your street – ambushed the two of you. He wanted in on Sungyeol’s ride giving and he wasn’t taking no for an answer.

“Tell me exactly where there’s room.” Sungyeol deadpanned, expecting Sungjong to give up. At least, hoping the tenacious, more than willing to go the distance to get his way, Sungjong was going to give up so quickly. But, as per his usual personality, he pursed his lips and pointed at the handlebars of Sungyeol’s bike.

“Right there.” Before Sungyeol could object, he was already climbing on, his feet balancing on the metal bars that projected from either side of Sungyeol’s front wheel.

As Sungyeol got a face full of Sungjong’s back, he uttered out another complaint of, “Why do you even need a ride? You’re faster than a car that’s speeding to get there!” that was ignored, his words deaf on Sungjong’s ears.

“Mush!” Sungjong commanded as he pointed forward this time, as though Sungjong were his own personal Siberian Husky, his backpack maneuvered so that it hung in front of him. At the very least, he was considerate enough to allow Sungyeol minimal breathing room.

Honestly, even if Sungyeol wanted to complain further, it was no use in the long run. They’d all end up late if he didn’t get moving now – at least, if he didn’t want to show off his abnormal speed and be recruited for the afterschool cycling club again. All he could do was fake a punch to the back of the younger werewolf’s head before lifting his foot off of the ground and setting off again.

But, not before making sure of one thing.

“Hands on my waist!” He snapped at you, disliking his current reality with a childish passion.

You shrugged, figuring you’d give into him once more, and latched onto his shirt, pinching at the fabric. Effectively stretching it. Effectively pissing him off more as he stopped the bike again, causing Sungjong to be the one to jerk forward this time, to which he responded with an annoyed, “What the hell?” Sungyeol turned, brown eyes glancing back at you over his shoulder through narrowed slits, “Do you want to walk?”

He had offered the ride and now he wanted you to walk. He was being absurd. He was throwing a fit. He was completely and utterly hilarious. And you laughed as you leaned against him, capturing his waist in a bear hug. “No way.” You shook your head, disheveling your hair against the nape of his neck. You felt his shoulders tremble, his body vibrating against your own as a chill went down his spine.

“You’re walking!” He shouted, voice cracking, words garbled through stuttering lips.

“No way.” You denied again, this time raising a single hand into the air before exclaiming, “Onward to school!” Sungjong repeated your action, fist pumping as he chorused your words over and over and over along with you until eventually, Sungyeol lifted his foot and with a grunt, started pedaling down the street once more.

You could hear Sungjong scoff, enjoying his and your small victory over Sungyeol. You could hear the tires of the bicycle rolling over each and every small pebble and each and every tiny crack that littered the street. You could hear a steady drum thumping against your ear, memories of a colder day flooding over you like a tsunami. You could see the scenery whizzing by, green and gray and blue all merging into a single blurred entity that seemingly went on forever. You could feel the heat that radiated off of Sungyeol’s body, insulated werewolf skin, if it was even possible, feeling even better on this slightly chilly Spring morning than it did before. And you relished in it. In the sights. In the sounds. In the feeling.

And apparently, someone else was doing the same.

“I’m flying, Jack! I’m flying!” Sungjong held his hands outwards, his eyes closed, his smile large as his entire body obstructed a rather irritated Sungyeol’s view.

“Shut the hell up!” Sungyeol yelled into the air, his voice echoing so loudly that pedestrians stopped to observe the curious scene that was a girl and two boys on a single bicycle.

“Oh, well aren’t you mister Casanova?”

Sungjong’s comment caused that light movement, that subtle inhale, that almost nonexistent exhale. The repetition of the action, lasting three times in total, made you inwardly sigh. Again, you hadn’t just heard it, you had felt Sungyeol’s laughter. Again, you had to resist the urge to reach out and grab hold of it.

You reached school mere minutes before the warning bell rang. Most likely because Sungjong’s constant struggle with sitting in front, no matter how high he “flew,” was proving to be a challenge to Sungyeol’s pedaling ability. When you arrived, a rather amused looking Hoya approached the three of you, having seen the battle fought between bike and riders from the school’s windows. Sungjong complained that next time he was riding in the back with you. Sungyeol complained back, whining that there would be no next time.

And now, you were watching Sungyeol walk down the hall, the opposite way your own homeroom was located. Your feet were unmoving until that last moment. That last moment in which he looked back at you, cheeks rising, smile wide. The gesture threw you off and you shifted to the left, diverting your eyes as a couple of students moved past you. When you looked back up, he were nowhere to be found.

You waited only a few minutes longer, your eyes boring holes into the doorway of his homeroom. You waited until a handful of students were left in the hallway and it was only a matter of time until the late bell rung. Only then could you be sure that he wasn’t going to come back out. Only when that bell rung did you pivot on your heel and run back down the stairs, your destination the Springfield Library.

Because a favor was a favor, no matter how troublesome.

How did it end up like this? You. Cha Hakyeon. Standing together at the entryway of your bedroom. Well, it was all simple really. As soon as you arrived at the library, he told you to take him to your house. Nothing suspicious or odd about that, right? Though, you had to admit, it was beyond suspicious that he seemed to be one full stride ahead of you no matter where you turned – offering a crooked smile as he questioned, “this way, right?” as though he had no idea where he was going. So then, he already knew where you lived. Big surprise. Heavy sarcasm seemed to be second nature to you when you were with him.

You usually only had to whip out the big guns for the every so often pissed off Zico. It seemed to be the only language he spoke when he was blinded by his own anger, after all. But, with Hakyeon, when teasing is what he did ninety percent of the time, teasing your brain, your conscious, your subconscious, you had to delve into newer forms of heavily sarcastic artillery.

Every word he said should be taken with a grain of salt. A grain that weighed a ton. Once more was it confirmed then. “Mind” was the proper contact name for him. 

“You know what’s funny?” He asked as he took large, animated steps into your room, pirouetting even as he reached the foot of your bed. You had to stop yourself from smiling. Smiling would only give him satisfaction. Satisfaction would give him more confidence. More confidence equals an even snarkier Cha Hakyeon.

“What?” You walked in behind him, draping your backpack over your desk chair, your tone anything but interested in whatever realization he had dawned upon.

He glanced back at you with those dark brown eyes of his, red hair contrasting against all the colors that made up your bedroom. No matter what, he always stood out. He never faded into the background. And he liked it. You could tell just by looking at him that he relished in it. That’s one trait they didn’t seem to share.

“It feels like you in here.” He raised his hands from his side, leaning his weight back onto his heels, sending himself falling back onto the sheets of your bed. His eyes stared up at the ceiling, staring at something that seemed to extend past the white spackled paint, “Weird, isn’t it?”

You didn’t answer him. You remained still, just watching him. Just watching him because just by doing that you felt like you were figuring things out. Because it was only when he talked that his complications seemed as insurmountable as the tallest mountain peek. 

But, then, he looked at you. Then, he looked at you and all the complications appeared to be nonexistent, as though they never existed in the first place. Then, he gestured to you with the curling of his fingers, wanting you to come closer. With his fluffy red fringe falling to the left. With his eyes holding that dazzling golden gleam. With his lips set into that soft line that seemed bound to sprout into a smile at any second, he called to you silently.

It was undeniable.

He was a beautiful mind.

“What do you want?” You asked, though for some reason, you felt as though you were talking to yourself. Not because he wasn’t listening, but because your voice came out as a whisper. Barely audible. Easily missed. Almost unheard.

He unfurled fingers clenched themselves, his gesture gone in an instant as though he remembered something. As though because he remembered something, he couldn’t simply be simple anymore. “Where’s the necklace?” He asked, suddenly. Abruptly. So much so you were left stunned for a moment. He had made no indication as to what necklace he was talking about. Not a single one of your previous conversations gravitated even light years close to any kind of necklace. And yet, you knew he was talking about that necklace.

The only one that seemed to matter to anyone.

The Wolfsbane necklace which belonged to Sunggyu’s grandfather. The necklace that they had told you was yours now. The necklace they no longer needed. And yet, could you really just pull it out and show it to him so easily?

He noticed your hesitation and added a teasing, “I know it’s not in your jewelry box. You’re not that naïve.”

“Am I not?” You rose an eyebrow, walking over towards your square, wooden jewelry box that sat upon the top of your dresser. It took some digging, but soon enough, there it was. There was the Wolfsbane filled necklace, laying in the palm of your hand. The best hiding place is the one which is so obvious it’s painful. So obvious it stings. So obvious it stuns.

It was his turn to be stunned as he stared not at the necklace, but up at you. “I suppose you don’t know me as well as you think you do.”

“I suppose I don’t.” He whispered, and yet, he was smiling. He was smiling as though he could have wished for nothing more. That is, except for said object that stunned him as he held out his hand, waiting for you to pass it over to him.

“What are you going to do with it?” You hesitated for the second time, your arm shaking in midair, only slightly, though there was no doubt in your mind that he noticed it. That he noticed that you were currently asking yourself if you had the right to give it away.

He reached out, the tips of his fingers brushing against the back of your hand before he curled those long fingers of his again, this time around your hand. And you watched, helpless, the will to stop him not rising up within you in the slightest, as he gently took the necklace from your grip.

“It’s a condition to our deal.” Was the explanation he provided you before he stood up, sliding it into the black depths of his front pants pocket. When would you see it again? Would you see it again? Had you just made the biggest mistake you could have ever made? He seemed to read your mind as he answered your unvoiced questions with his next words, “I’ll give it to you after graduation day is over. Think of it as a graduation present?”

You frowned, “I’m not the one graduating though.”

He shrugged, “Semantics.”

You stared at him, still trying to talk yourself into what you had just done, despite the action being undoable at this point.

He sighed, fiery red lips pouting forward, “Oh just trust me, will you?”

“I trust you.” You spoke, the words sitting much righter with you than they should have, “Its your intentions I don’t trust.”

Did he not expect that either? Was that why his immediate response was silence? Is that why he smiled right after?

“My intentions are to work for the benefit of you and your wolfy friends.”

What both of you didn’t expect, however, was that the front door of the house would open just then. Just then, right before his lips parted, as though he were going to say something else. Something else you would never have another chance to hear as a stern voice called out, “Hyunjoo?”

It was your mother. She had come home for some reason. She had come for whatever reason and had heard Hakyeon without a doubt. And what did he do? What did he immediately do as soon as he heard her call out to you? He his heel and set off down the stairs, a cheery, “Hello, Ms. Song. How are you?” leaving his lips.

And what you heard was forebodingly bad. It was bad in that you heard nothing. Which meant that the outburst would happen in three, two, and one.

“Hyunjoo!” She yelled for you this time, her stern tone coated in anger as though she had an easy to access switch in with which to flick up or down depending on her mood. And her mood right now wasn’t in the least bit pleasant.

“Hi, mom.” You awkwardly came out of your bedroom, gulping down on your own spit in order to keep yourself from saying something that would send her anger off the charts. When you reached Hakyeon’s side where he stood, smiling as though all was right in the world, you gestured to him with your hands, “This is Cha Hakyeon. I met him at the library a little while back. He’s new to town.”

All of it was the truth. Every single bit. And yet, it felt like you were blatantly lying to her face. It felt like she knew that you were. However, no matter what it felt like, all that came out of was a subdued, “Cha Hakyeon?”

“Yes ma’am. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He bowed. Deep, long, ninety degrees, the whole show. The works. All for your mother. It was surprising to watch him act so respectful, but what wasn’t surprising in the least was that his snarkiness remained, no matter who he spoke to, “I’ve been meaning to come over and greet you for a long while now. Do forgive me for not coming sooner.”

“It’s no problem.” Your mother’s arms crossed against her chest, her eyes looking him up and down, scanning his features as though she were trying to figure him out now just as you were since you had met him. It was impossible when he was like this, you wanted to tell her.

“And forgive me again for having to leave so soon. But, I really must be on my way.” And he threw you a wayward glance, those lips of his curving, that golden gleam shimmering across his irises, before he was gone. Gone just like that. Gone and as the door closed, your mother’s words filled the air that felt as though it were missing something due to his sudden absence.

“He’s dangerous.” She said, her anger, her sternness, gone. What remained was her rarely heard, soft, gentle, wearisome tone.

You answered her as you walked back up the stairs in order to retrieve your backpack. You decided it was better to leave for school now before she realized that technically, you being here, at home, meant that you were skipping school.

“I know.”

You knew. You knew better than anyone.

When he woke up the following Tuesday, he got dressed and went downstairs, as merry as could be. It was raining again today. Drop after drop after drop drizzled down onto the shingles of the roof, a pleasant melody echoing through the air. Bouncing this way and that off of the walls of the house. From one room to the next. The resulting symphony caused him to bob his head to the rhythm as his feet mindlessly carried him down the stairs.

His hands swung back and forth, his fringe lightly massaged his forehead as he his heel to approach the kitchen, and his new, sparkling piece of jewelry cooled his tanned skin to the touch. He felt good today, as was evident by the skip in his step and the smile on his face. Much different from how the woman with short blonde hair was feeling as she sat in the kitchen, munching down on a bowl of milk and cereal.

Her hair was in disarray, bed head poking out this way and that. Her usual, thick and elegant kohl eyeliner was nowhere to be found, only a light pink, natural blush adorning her face.  Her face which was sullied with two deep, dark circles just beneath her eyes. She hadn't been sleeping well recently, no thanks to the male who had just entered.

"No breakfast?" He questioned, mock disappoint slathered on his face in such an obvious manner that she had to hold back the urge to chuck her silver spoon at that large, white grin of his. But, she held back like the dutiful babysitter she was.

"If you want some, make it yourself. Otherwise," she pointed to the cereal box on the kitchen counter with her spoon, a few drops of milk falling upon the table in the process, "grab a bowl and take a seat. The milk is in the fridge."

"Cereal it is then." He shrugged, deciding on the easy way out of his current predicament. He promptly went about opening a cabinet near the fridge, humming a tune that drummed unpleasantly against her ears. It was too early for him to be so happy, and it was upsetting her just slightly. Just a bit. Her frustration only grew once she noticed the milk droplets on the breakfast table near her cereal bowl.

She cursed, feeling as though today was just not her day, before calling out to him, “Grab me a paper towel while you’re at it.”

He glanced back at her momentarily as he scoured the fridge for the milk she had spoken of before. It didn’t take him long to find it squished between dinner’s leftovers and a jug of orange juice. He went about pouring his cereal and then the milk, his hums having changed into a piercing whistle. She groaned and his lips stuttered in their action for a moment, letting out a laugh at her less than positive response to the non-existent song he was singing along to. Finished prepping his breakfast, he put the cereal box back in the pantry, grabbed a paper towel from the large roll by the sink, and headed over to the breakfast table.

She held her hand out, her eyes not locking with his, and waited. He laughed again, the feeling of soft paper pressing against her palm. What was he so happy about? Why was he so cheerful and carefree when he was making her life a living hell? She wanted to know, and she thought that she would somehow be able to tell if she saw it – the look on his face as he laughed so impishly. And as her eyes trailed upwards, up from the hem of his burgundy, long sleeve sweater to his chest, to his chin, just below where his smile beamed on his face, she caught sight of something. Something that twinkled as he sat down across from her. Something that swayed, taunting her as his laugh, as his smile, always did. Something silver and familiar.

A necklace. A silver necklace which held at its end a faint purple teardrop shaped gem, embezzled with worked silver bent like branches engulfing it from the bottom up.

And her morning went from bad to worse. From bad to worse as she immediately rose to her feet. From bad to worse as she rounded the table in two strides despite her shorter than average legs.  From bad to worse as she, in one fowl swoop, had his collar wrapped between all ten of her thin fingers, curling into the wool fabric of his sweater.

He had already made her life a living hell. She had no intention of seeing the hell that exists in the after life.

“What the hell is this?” Her voice boomed through the house, drowning out the noise of the rain that still pitter-pattered down all around them outside. Her anger was almost palpable, searing at his exposed cheeks as she stared into his eyes with her fiery own. Upset was not strong enough of a word to describe how she felt.

Still, as he always had, he remained unaffected by her livid anger. He replied with an uncommitted shrug, “A sign of trust.”

“Don’t bull me.” She growled, teeth gnawing, scraping against each other, “How did you get this?” Then, she second guessed herself, her mind drifting to what would happen if she were to be questioned about the matter at a later date. It was best if she was left ignorant of the “how.” The “why” was much more important at this point in time. “No, I don’t want to know how you got it. I don’t even care how you got it. Do you know what will happen if they find out you have it?”

Her eyes shifted then, a pleading tone flashing across her irises. As though she cared enough to be worried for him. He scoffed at that thought. No, all she cared about was her own hide. She was selfishly worried for herself, something that was painfully obvious as he proceeded to mock her, he himself deciding that the time to be ignorant was now, “They as in who exactly?”

And just like that, her fingers clenched again, her foot kicking his chair out of the way before she drove him backwards, banging his body roughly against the windowpane. Her tongue was like a snake’s, harsh “s” sounds working through her words as she spoke through a firm jaw, “I have no problem crushing that pretty boy face of yours what with the way you’ve been driving me up the wall lately.”

“Should I not defend my greatest asset?” He voiced, causing her to freeze in place save for her facial features which softened, her jaw falling open, her eyebrows unfurrowing, nothing but dewy whites and blues coating her eyes. Why? Because she understood now. She was no longer ignorant. She knew the “how.” And she certainly knew the “why” as well as the “who.” The sound of rain engulfed the two once more, pelting the window that he still stood against, composed, unflinching, because he had to be, “Or would you like to lend me your own insight as to how I’m supposed to go about protecting her?”

Her fingers unraveled from his collar, her feet taking slow steps back as her head shook in reflex, control over her own body all but nonexistent, “Your father won’t approve of this.”

“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” He shrugged again. But, this time, it was straight. Strong. Committed. Committed in his actions and what they might cause in the future, no matter what the future may be.

Her bottom lip trembled, her eyes searching his own, picking him apart with a fine tooth comb as best she could. Looking and looking and looking for it. For weakness. For doubt. For something that seemed all but nonexistent despite it all. Despite everything. “You should have just let nature run its course.” She backed into the table at her side, steadying herself as her mind worked. As she tried to figure out where she would have to go from here. The role of babysitter was working out to be much more difficult than she originally had thought it would be.

“I’m not one of you.” Hakyeon readjusted his sweater, his fingers grazing past the silver chain which dangled from his neck. His lips curved upwards due to the cooling contact, and he had a new label to add to his list of descriptors, “I’m an opportunist."

And just like that, he grabbed his untouched bowl of cereal and sashayed past her. Humming that same tune. Smiling that same smile.

And Sunny was left paralyzed by the table, only able to manage a laugh at the troublesome hell he had brought raining down upon her this humid, rainy Tuesday morning, “An opportunistic little brat.”

A/N:

The amount of nothing that happened in this chapter is almost painful. But, what can you do? It was necessary, ya know? What nothing scene did you like the most?

Nothing scenes are my favorites scenes.

BAM! BAM! and a-BAM!
Cause I like sharing.

secret BAM.