xxxiv. Unsought Answers to Open-Ended Questions

Graduation day had finally arrived. Your second to last year of highschool had come to a close. Celebration was necessary in the highest of forms. An idea that had latched itself well onto the minds of the seven who clamored around you, lost in the daydreams of their own imaginations, plotting and scheming to no end.

“Alcohol is the most obvious choice.” Kyung declared unabashed, not caring who heard as all eight of you stood by your car in the school parking lot, parents and their accompanying children giving him judging looks as they passed – which he returned with a gracious, wide smile.

“Alcohol is expensive.” Taeil remarked as though it were a pity, seeming to entertain the idea for a moment before dawning upon this realization; in the face of the legal drinking age being as it was.

“We can just rob a bank then.” Zico added dryly in jest, laughing to himself – he was the only one who laughed at all.

“We can pig out.” P.O commented uncommittedly, food on his mind more than anything as he had spent the wee hours of the morning with Jiyeon in the bathroom as she dyed his hair a blazing shade of red – because of the simple fact that she was bored, nothing else to occupy her precious time with.

“Feeding sixteen people isn’t cheap.” Taeil voiced again, his fingers up as he counted silently in his head exactly how many zeros would be before that humbling decimal.

“We can just rob a bank then.” Zico said for the second time, his words ignored in favor of the ongoing deboggle that was the current conversation.

“How about we buy a boat and go sailing on the seven seas, not turning back once until seven seasons have gone by and memories of hula girls, cheap vodka, expensive living, slot machines, sandy beaches, bikinis, and, most of all, nights we can’t seem to remember have piled up so high we’ve lived our share of carelessness for a lifetime and more?” Jaehyo spilled out, seeming to dwell on his idea for much longer than just this particular day.

And before Taeil could again calculate the cost of a boat, let alone expensive living and bikini clad hula girls, he was interrupted. He was interrupted by U-kwon who urged them to gather their scattered minds and wandering thoughts. To prep themselves for the brilliant idea that had taken him not even seconds to deem as the best idea he’s had all day.

“Okay, so listen to me for a second, just a second, okay?” He looked from one of them to the other, locking eyes with each one of you before, with the utmost seriousness, uttering two words you would swear up and down you’d only heard said, at maximum, two times in your entire life, “Ball pit.”

His idea was so odd, so unbelievably random, that B-bomb’s immediate reaction was, “A ball pit?”

“You mean,” Jaehyo thought for a moment, furrowing his eyebrows as he attempted to grasp onto his fleeting memory regarding the meaning of the two words which came in tandem with one another, “the big, square container with the plastic, rainbow balls where adults throw their kids with the slim hopes of losing them forever?”

The definition was so exaggerated, so sarcastic, you couldn’t help but laugh at the sound of it.

“That’s right.” U-kwon nodded, his eyes which held their gaze, his lips which failed to falter from their set line, showing without a doubt that he wasn’t joking. That he wasn’t exaggerating. That he wasn’t being sarcastic. Not at all.

“Okay,” P.O groaned, frustrated with not being able to comprehend whatever inside joke U-kwon seemed to be telling, “why should this sound amazing to me?”

“Because you’re not seeing it.” U-kwon shook his head in disapproval, clearing his throat right after as he corrected, as he clarified, the – very lacking in detail – details of his plan, “The entire house, both floors, filled two feet deep with every kid’s dream. What better way to celebrate leaving behind the institution of their childhood but to enjoy the best moment of it? It’s uncomprehensive awesomeness of massive proportions.”

There was silence. Silence that, as the entire weight of his words sunk in, which, considering the light-hearted, innocent nature of them, didn’t last that long.

“Okay,” P.O leaned back, out of the circle all eight of you had formed without even realizing it, as though you were all a team meeting up after a “Time Out” had been called on reality, “why does that sound so amazing right now?”

“Because it is!” U-kwon raised his hand into the air, receiving immediate approval in the form of a hi-five from P.O, the two embracing briefly right after in complete, childish understanding.

“Because you’re both idiots.” Jaehyo said out loud, not bothering to hide his insult that went ignored by the two, their excitement too uncomprehensive at the current point in time. And yet, not another person said a single word in denial of the “Ball Pit Scheme,” no other ideas coming to the table in the face of its “awesomeness.”

“Well, if we’re doing it, I’m sure as hell not paying for it.” Kyung gave in, his words seemingly annoyed, almost put off, by the idea, and yet, a mischievous smile was on his face nevertheless as he thought of the endless torture he could inflict upon one particular young werewolf.

“We can just rob a bank then.” You said, repeating Zico’s words for a third time before he could as you saw those lips of his part, his lungs in a breath to say them right then and there. And a jester like smile that stretched from ear to ear formed on his face, contagious and uncomprehensible.

Graduation day was worth celebrating, no matter the terrors that laid in its wake.

This is why plans were being made at the present point in time.

Because, if plans were made, they would be carried out.

Without fail, all the scheming and plotting would come to full fruition when the day was finally over.

The "Ball Pit Scheme" would take effect without a doubt, though no banks would have to suffer for its awesome existence. 

It was easy to forget. 

A flash of red rose from beside you as the name Nam Woohyun echoed through the large room, bouncing from one brick wall to the next, from one patch of wooden flooring to the next, from one edge of the bleachers to those all the way on the other side of Springfield High's Gymnasium. What followed that rising red were, like in form and material, colors of black and grey coupled with such a loud round of applause it felt like the building would collapse under its endless vivacity. 

Said person in question threw a wide, greasy grin towards you and the seven clad in svelte fabric on your right, as well as the three on your left who had chosen much less flashy clothes of cotton, jean, and wool – though their hollers plus your own attracted just as much attention if not more then those seated on your right: Zico and his entire pack clad in tuxedos. No one asked them to. Even if someone did, they would have said they were going to do it anyway.

Semi-formal was the dress code. "Best Man" was the look they went for, Kyung and Jaeyho practically dying as they continued with their faux mewling while they watched Woohyun received his diploma from the principal: the rarely seen hermit, Mr. Yoo. 

It was easy to forget. 

Arriving separately from today’s graduates today who came here earlier with Sungjong, Sungyeol, and Myungsoo, Zico and his pack had made quite the grandest of entrances. With Jaehyo at the wheel and Taeil in the passenger side of his pick-up truck, five werewolves dressed like princes sitting in the bed of his truck showed up at the school. Jaehyo, who had no qualms about being the “chauffer,” was the epitome of arrogant as he honked his horn liberally, telling “peasants” to “make room for the esteemed Zico, Yukwon, Minhyuk, Jihoon, and Kyung.” It was rude, undeniably. It was all in jest, of course, as the courteous way he smiled as he honked his horn like a madman was more laugh than anger worthy – making the fact that you had gotten to the school late enough to witness it as you parked anything but unlucky. But, really, what was courtesy?

What was courtesy in the face of such a momentous day? It was nothing to Zico and the rest. 

And, surprisingly, it was nothing to Myungsoo on your left as well, his own yells of Woohyun's name over and over twice as loud as those of the seemingly ually frustrated duo of Kyung and Jaehyo. 

As soon as Woohyun's presence had ended its graceful walk across the stage, however, you all quieted down immediately, clapping as though all was right in the world, as though Kyung was merely pretending to have gone faint from Woohyun's wink coupled with a cheesy "V" right before he stepped down in Jaehyo's arms; which, ironically, he was. As though it were simply another day of any other week of any other month of any other year, the eleven of you clapped graciously and politely, erupting only when that head of chestnut peaked up from beside stage right, his name not soon after following suit. 

"Lee Howon." 

With ears that almost went deaf and a throat that was on the brink of being lost forever, all eleven of you yelled out once more. Sungjong practically strangled Sungyeol's arm off as he bounced up and down in place, becoming more and more like Kyung's over-exaggerating self with each day that went by. Though, telling him as much would only result in a long, hard stare that had the potential to eviscerate you in mere seconds. Taeil was especially supportive of Hoya, practically climbing onto P.O's back in order to see him properly; his lack of height not helping him in this particular situation. As he threw everyone a charismatic smile and wave and stepped down from the stage, diploma in hand, your throat was allowed another break from its strain.

But, whether or not it was fortunate or unfortunate, you'll never know, as it didn't take long for the next set of names to be read by the principal's soft-spoken voice.

"Jang Dongwoo."

P.O used Taeil for support as he fanned himself, mumbling incoherently about the "beefcake" that was Dongwoo and his "swagger" as he took to the stage – comments that caused the family seated below all of you on the bleachers to laugh to themselves. After receiving his diploma and shaking hands with the principal, he raised both hands into the air, waving ecstatically while he shuffled across the stage, conducting a dance only he could do without looking silly; that only he could do and still look cool.

And you yelled his name, the intention to say anything more, to do anything more, nonexistent.

And you could have sworn he threw one of those Cheshire like smiles your way, a special one just for you.

And after that, he stepped down from the stage to make way for the next student.

And that was that. 

The ending speeches were given, the procession closing just as normally as it began, the entire morning going off without a hitch. Bundles of flowers were exchanged, congratulations were said, and the drive to the local dinner to grab a bite to eat before heading over to the Post-Graduation party proved painless and, overall, fulfilling to the empty stomachs that everyone seemed to share. 

Squeezing into two large, different booths, one after the other lining the windows of the establishment in the back of the dinner, you briefly heard conversations regarding college, future careers, and whether to get waffles or buttered pancakes exchanged. 

And that was that. 

The Three Wolfketeers sat two to one by the window in the first booth, discussing matters that were seemingly hilarious – revolving around the topic of strawberry jam, an inside joke within itself that you couldn't even begin to comprehend. Dongwoo, Hoya, and Taeil talked about Hoya's ambitious, yet completely plausible, plans for medical school beside them. Jaehyo and Sungyeol sat at the very end, the two of them battling it out for who had the right to stretch their legs into the other's personal "bubble," as Sungyeol had called it. Jaehyo won in the end.

Sungjong, sitting by the window of the second booth, went with waffles in the end. All thanks to Kyung who had made the regrettable choice of sitting across from him. Kyung, who had begrudgingly promised, after reaching a point in which he simply didn't want to hear the words "what do you think" any longer, to share his pancakes with Sungjong if he didn't like his order. U-kwon, P.O, and Zico were still discussing the terms and conditions of the "Ball Pit Scheme," the entire fiasco sounding more and more doable the longer they talked about it. 

And you listened in, adding in a sarcastic remark here and there that made U-kwon who sat beside you nudge you in amusement and shared excitement for, the look on Zico's face priceless every time he was one-upped by you. Although it didn't seem to bother him in the least in the long run, his smile unceasing right after as P.O continued to fantasize about the mini Olympic Games they could hold for the backstroke in the living room. 

And that was that. 

And you only wished that that were true. 

You only wished this could be the happy ending to this ill-boding day. 

It was easy to forget.

“Where were you?” Were B-bomb’s first words to Jiyeon as she approached him, Woohyun, Myungsoo, and yourself in the foyer of the Mayor’s house.

The entire hall as well as all the rooms on the first floor were done up to the nines, extravagant gold and white – the school’s colors – streamers and other like decorations hanging from here to there and everywhere. The event itself was smaller than usual, as it was mainly for those who had graduated today along with their families and friends. It was still a normal workday, which meant no one who didn’t have to didn’t take the day off. As the weather was rising to its hot summer peak, many people who had nothing to do with graduation this year were already packing their bags to go on whatever trip they had planned beforehand. Still, a lot of people showed up. A lot more than you expected. Though, by the looks of it, there was no one you hadn’t expected. Which meant, essentially, that at the very least, empty, mindless conversation could be held without much worry for those who happened to be listening in.

Jiyeon shoved her hands through her unruly hair, drawing it back out of her face before sighing, “Sorry. I would have been there for you,” she directed towards Woohyun, “and Muscles and Cheshire, but I got an urgent house call from a few girl friends in London. You know how girls talk, baby bro. The hours practically flew by.” She nudged B-bomb with her elbow, telling him silently to not be worried about her. Which was odd, considering she would have landed a merciless punch to his chest on any other occasion.

“Don’t worry about it. We got scolded afterwards enough as it is for how loud our “families” in the bleachers were. If you were there, we might have been held back from graduation completely what with your obscene mouth not knowing the very meaning of the word.” Woohyun joked, causing her to smile up at him. A smile that seemed to say, “You know me so well already.”

Myungsoo looked behind her, wondering if anyone else you all knew would be walking through the door, “I assume you’re not staying, though?”

“Yeah,” Jiyeon clicked her teeth, dissatisfied with being unable to make mischief and wreck havoc at today’s party, “Zico and the others are all scouting the perimeter of this place for when the hunters show up, just like we agreed on, seeing as today is when they promised they’d strike. A promise that looks like it was made to be broken, in my opinion, but whatever. I’ve got the southwest with U-kwon to cover. Speaking of which,” she turned around, peaking through the windows that lined the front door of the house on either side, “he should be calling for me anytime now. I swear that monkey has no patience when it comes to a girl’s graceful pace. Bounding from one tree to the next, yelling at me to keep up.” She threw you a frown now, the reason of which you didn’t have to wonder for long, “It’s your fault, you know? He’s got to learn not everyone is as adept in track and field as Miss Song Hyunjoo.”

And as though he had heard her bad mouthing him, a whistle pierced through the windows, screeching against your eardrums painfully. Jiyeon sighed, waving at everyone listlessly, “There’s my keeper. Speak of the devil and he appears, ey?” She reached out, giving your forearm a squeeze before bidding you all farewell for now, something else that struck you as odd.

Still, you overlooked it, your ability to do anything but laugh ripped from you as Woohyun said randomly, “Hey B-bomb, Myungsoo, let’s take a bunch of pictures today. Selcas. Food shots. Black blurs we can’t distinguish because we moved too much. Pictures of someone’s foot for reasons we can’t explain. All of it. All of it and more. What do you say?”

“Is this a plan to make my sister jealous?” Was what B-bomb said.

“Maybe.” Is what Woohyun sang out melodiously, taking large, animated steps, cellphone in hand, towards the music and the chatter that littered every inch of open space.

“Sounds good to me then.” B-bomb agreed, the two walking off like twins separated at birth, pulling their third brother, Myungsoo, along for the ride with them. He made steps to follow, seeing no reason to not until you provided him one.

“Hey, Myungsoo?” You called out to him before he could disappear along with them. It was in reflex, mostly.

For the past week, that insoluble topic had been drilled into your head over and over so much so that the large, gaping hole it left behind left you gasping for air. Left you feeling all alone in your own little bubble. Left you yearning for it, that look he gave you as he turned. Sympathetic. Understanding. Comforting. Without even realizing it, he was the outlet of this one, particular worry. Perhaps, even more than that. Seeing him look at you the way he did then, not saying a word, yet as readable as the morning newspaper, left you satisfied.

You were satisfied in the solace that starry night sky had supplied you with that one gesture that remained painted across the heavens. An expression he’d be willing to give no matter when or where. One he must have had no idea he was crafting with otherworldly tools akin to paint and brush. And yet, he must have known.

He must have known how you felt. Because he was there when you called to him. And, he could have listened if you let him.

If you let him.

If simply hearing him say, “What’s up,” neither questioning nor worried, wasn’t enough.

It was all so complicated, the effect he had on you. It was all so complicated, all the screams and the whispers behind your response, “The sky.” It was all so simple, as he smiled then.

And you smiled back.

Your father was the topic. Kim Myungsoo was your comfort. The relationship was complicated. The facts were simple.

You’d seek his sympathy and his wise – no matter how cruel they sounded, no matter how unwisely he might have chosen to say them, no matter how blunt he was in the end – words later. When there was more time to sit around and simply talk. When the time for forceful action and dangerous situations were long behind the both of you.

This was it. After today, once the sun rose tomorrow morning, it would all be over. The fights. The complications. The waiting until he’d finally be able to take the red suitcase he had had packed for months now out of his closet. His whole life in a little red box. His entire world in this quaint town of Springfield. It was almost funny, really, how long he had felt himself so sure of his decision. And yet, now, now that he was mere hours away from going back to the place he used to call “home,” he was hesitating.

He was hesitating as he watched all the familiar faces engage in familiar conversations in familiar surroundings. He was comfortable here, that was something he could never deny. Sure, what he was made life difficult but it had always been difficult. It would always be difficult, not matter where he was. But, amidst these difficulties came times where he didn’t think he could be happier.

He smiled and laughed and got angry and impatient and it was all worth it.

He didn’t regret coming to Springfield over ten years ago.

He wouldn’t regret it no matter how much time went by.

No matter where he was in the future.

Now, though, he wanted to dwell on it. He wanted to take it all in. The sights and the sounds of this last day. The familiar smells and even more familiar feelings. He wanted to reduce it to its most basic of forms. He wanted to remember it all in the simplest of terms. He wanted to erase his feelings of hesitation and replace them with bountiful grateful words and gestures.

Unfortunately, the one person he didn’t want to smell or see or hear stepped into his vision then. The one person who always caused within him a tidal wave of complicated hesitation stepped up to the porch he was currently rooted on, undeterred by the look of impassivity on his face which had driven away all those who had thought to approach him before they even could.

“What are you doing up here all by yourself, Sungyeol?” You asked, smiling as you came to a stop in front of him.

“Just people watching.” He answered, smiling back.

You pursed your lips, nodding in understanding of why he would entertain himself with such an activity, before deciding to propose another one to him, “Do you want to go find the others with me? Hoya’s inner party animal is on the verge of coming out and if that’s not worth seeing, then I don’t know what is.”

Sungyeol begged to differ, though didn’t outwardly disagree with you, fearing further hesitation on his part should your expression change if he did. “Nah,” he slipped one hand from the confines of his pants’ pockets, waving it in the air dismissively, “I’ll just hang around here for a bit longer.”

“Then, I’ll stay with you.” You decided on a whim, taking your place by his side and shoving your hands into the imaginary pockets of your loose, sleeveless white dress that could have acted as a long shirt should the need arise, mimicking his stance.

And, again, he begged to differ. Except, this time, he couldn’t help but disagree with you, his cheery tone sounding wrong when combined with his next words of, “No. No, you won’t.”

You turned to him, confused. Because, for whatever reason, it seemed as though he was denying your words not only in the context of this one situation but in the context of all. Across any and all times. From one place to the next. You wouldn’t stay with him. Which was, to you, ridiculous. Which was, to your still unenlightened mind, absurd in all meanings of the word.

“Sungyeol.” You called him sternly, about ready to scold him for saying such a thing. Ready to disprove his theory, his hypothesis which seemed to jump the gun. Which assumed too much. You assumed too much.

“I’m waiting for Jaehyo anyway.” He interrupted before you could even begin to outline your counterargument.

A lie. He was lying. Lying through a smile. Lying for the umpteenth time. Lying because besides hesitation, there was something else that kept him second guessing himself.

And you weren’t having it as he kept yourself firmly by his side, “Then, I’ll wait for him too.”

“No. No, you won’t.” Sungyeol reaffirmed, his hand reaching out to push against your shoulder, to nudge you away from him with a clenched fist because if he opened his palm, if he stretched his fingers outwards and allowed them to grasp onto you, he wouldn’t be able to let go, “Go.”

Uncertainty regarding his behavior caused you to frown, his gesture of pushing you away from him upsetting you to the point where you wanted to knock some sense into him right then and there. To you, there was no reason to hold back. To you, the time was now. To you, if you couldn’t get him to follow the ticking of your own clock, you’d make sure you were penciled in on his own.

“Promise me a dance later.” You exclaimed, providing him an ultimatum to the condition of your departure.

And, after a single second of thought, after watching your serious expression, that stubborn look that could quite possibly get him to do anything, he gave in, “I promise.”

You took slow steps away from him, backing away as though he would high tail it and run if you weren’t careful. He smiled and he laughed and he didn’t regret a single thing as you pointed from your eyes to his own, “You promised.”

He felt the sharp edges of paper sliding against the tips of his fingers. Crinkling in the depths of his pants’ pocket, his uncertainty of whether to shove it further down or let it see the light of day as wavering as current position in the backyard of the Mayor’s home. He went from one table to the next. From one corner to the other. Dodging the girls whose sights were set on him, their confessions looming in the suffocating afternoon air. Trying his best to not blatantly ignore the conversations the boys who graduated with him attempted to start, smiling and laughing along with them when it was most appropriate.

But, he never stayed in one place for long. He noticed a tall, familiar figure on the back porch doing the exact opposite. And, he knew he wasn’t the only one who was conflicted with his own indecisiveness this very day.

He wasn’t able to dwell on that slip of paper in his dark gray jeans for much longer, the next time it flew from his hands, the next time he’d be able to think about conveying the message written in it in bold, rash, ambitious red, far from now. Just as far from now as when he had written it that sunny day in London, when it came back to him that very night.

It wasn’t long until he met up with Hoya, Sungjong, and yourself, all of you calling out to him as he sashayed through the moving bodies. He joined you all gratefully, not wanting to think about it anymore right now. Putting it off was so much easier in the face of the smiles which greeted him then.

“We were just asking Hoya here how it felt to officially be a graduate of Springfield high, Dongwoo.” You informed him, waving him closer to you, gesturing for him to stand by your side. He did so without a single word, because that’s what was comfortable. That’s what felt right. So right there was no reason to dwell on it.

“And I was saying it feels fantastic.” Hoya ended for you, swinging an arm around Sungjong right after in jest, “Too bad this kid here still has two more years to go.”

“Too bad you’re apparently not as fond of your arm as you let on,” Sungjong threatened, glaring at him incredulously for talking to him as though Hoya’s age differed so greatly from his own. Two years was nothing. To Sungjong, two years was nothing. To Hoya, Sungjong’s evil eye was enough to ward his forearm off of the younger’s shoulders; because an angry Sungjong was the last kind of Sungjong he wanted to deal with. After the temperamental one, of course. Sungjong huffed, shrugging his shoulders ignorantly, “Apparently, anyway.”

“Well, you’ll feel amazing when the time comes.” Dongwoo grinned widely, both hands in his pockets as he slouched over, letting out a relieved, albeit exaggerated, sigh, “The stress of highschool never does feel as heavy as when it’s finally off your shoulders.”

“But, before that time inevitably comes,” Hoya casted a glance around the room, taking it all in before nodding to himself, coming to a conclusion everyone knew even if it wasn’t what he said next, “we should focus on the main dance that’s about to start.”

Dongwoo bowed extravagantly towards Hoya then, brown eyes looking up from beneath a charming, newly dyed, black colored fringe, “Would you do me the honors?”

“If you had any honor at all, you’d know it’s much too early to even begin to attempt to court me.” Hoya tossed imaginary strands of flowing locks over his shoulder, scoffing at Dongwoo’s proposal. It was nice, seeing the two play around so cheerfully. It was nice, the way Hoya accepted Dongwoo anyway, “But, just this once, I’ll accept on the terms that you expect nothing more than a jig or two.”

“Have I ever told you how much I love your odd sense of humor?” Dongwoo joked back, the two walking off together like a gentleman and gentlewoman engaged in the game of courtship. Though, not for long, as soon after they were break dancing in the center of the group of citizens who had begun to dance, each battling the other for who could gain the larger amount of cheers, the game of courtship and pleasantries out the window.

With the two gone, however, Sungjong’s own question to you was obvious. With one hand placed politely behind his back while the other extended itself out to you, palm up, he asked, “May I have this dance?”

You smiled, eyeing both him and his hand, regarding them with a slightly amused manner, “While I abhor rejecting the offer,” but, you turned your glance away from him, searching the crowd before continuing, “I need to find Sungyeol.” When you turned back towards Sungjong, he was visibly confused, not understanding why you “needed” to do so. So, you explained yourself, laughing without a second thought, “He promised he would dance with me earlier. I want to make sure he comes through with it and doesn’t run away with Jaehyo instead.”

But, promises made to someone else in places he couldn’t see made him upset. For reasons he didn’t know. For reasons that didn’t strike him until he watched you turn, waving at him with that unchanging smile on your face. For reasons that were lost on him because they were seemingly lost on you. Because you had seemingly forgotten that cold day in the school’s gym when it was just you and him. When he said those three precious words first. By his knowledge, before anyone else could.

And he wasn’t satisfied with wordlessness in response. With ignorance in the face of it. He selfishly wanted to dance with you first, as though he really were just a “kid,” as Hoya had so aptly called him earlier.

As though two years really were something.

And he didn’t want them to be. He felt the need to reassert the exact opposite.

So then, two years was nothing.

And if two years was nothing, then what was one?

“I like you.”

One was insignificant.

Just a fleeting twelve months. Just a measly three hundred and sixty-five days. Just the blink of an eye, as easy to conquer as an anthill.

He just needed to say it again. To reaffirm it all. To make it known for the second time, because you didn’t seem to get it the first. In his eyes, the absence of a visible change meant nothing had changed at all. Because he was, admittedly, in that moment, an ignorant child.

“Sungjong—” You began, only to be interrupted by him. Because he didn’t want to be rejected. Not for your first dance of the night and certainly not for the words he had said for the second time now.

“You don’t need to say it.” He put on a convincing smile, telling you you didn’t have to answer him now. Backing out at the last minute despite the strong front he put forth. Too scared to face the words that came next. Not ready to be answered, but still wanting to be acknowledged. The whole feeling was a mess. A complicated knot he wasn’t ready to untie.

“But, I should.” You urged, his own premature rejection causing you to feel as though it had to come out now. Now, so that he wouldn’t have to wait anymore. Now, an immediacy that caused you to ramble, your stream of consciousness taking over, “You deserve actions and words and gestures and an answer to your confession after so long, Sungjong.” You peered under his bangs which he hid behind, his eyes turned away from your own, your hand reaching out to grab onto his own, “Please, let me tell you.”

He stepped back, out of the range of your touch, not wanting to give into it so easily, “I don’t want to hear it.”

You shook your head, taking a step closer to him in turn, managing that smile of yours that always sent him over the clouds and the moon, sailing into the stars, disappearing as he floated past galaxy upon galaxy, “I don’t want to say it.”

“Then don’t.” He snapped at you, something he had never done before. Something he had never done with such impatience before. Such misplaced frustration and annoyance that it made him regret his actions, his words, his gestures, and his answer to your desire to give him a heartfelt answer, instantly. He inwardly groaned, directing his irritation elsewhere, towards himself, as he dismissed you with words less sharp than those from earlier. With gestures more open-ended than those from earlier. With the act of a small smile, managing one despite it all, “Pretend for a bit longer, okay? Until we get through this, let me be selfish, okay?”

And he left you hanging there, in the midst of grasping onto the coattails of your newfound decisiveness, hoping he wouldn’t be selfish even when everything was said and done.

Which was, admittedly, easier said then done.
 

“Hyunjoo.”

Someone called for you over the music that continued play, their tone remorseful. When you turned, you expected who it was. Though, there was something else regarding the two that you didn’t expect. Something they proceeded to immediately apologize for.

“Sorry we didn’t make it to the Graduation.” Niel sighed, rubbing his neck apologetically, feeling much worse than he should have been for missing it. No one he was close to was graduating, after all. But, he had still wanted to come in order to support Dongwoo, Hoya, and Woohyun: since they were your close friends. The sentiment was enough, whether they made it in the end or not. “My mom’s car stuttered this morning and it was going five miles at its fastest. By the time we jolted it back to life, the Graduation ceremony had already ended and this party was on the brink of starting. So, we just went ahead and came straight here.”

“I told you we should’ve just walked.” Ricky let out a breathy sigh, crossing his arms against his pristine white, semi-formal, dress shirt that he coupled with a pair baby blue jeans.

He had cleaned up nicely from his usual black jeans and hoodies. Niel, on the other hand, who Ricky looked to then with the utmost disdain, looked as good as always in a black dress shirt and gray colored jeans, seemed a bit out of place. You were used to his white logo tees and skinny jeans – a sweater on top if the weather was too cold – to the point where seeing him in anything else was a bit odd. Thinking about it even more, they’re casual wear matched their preference of underwear. Though, perhaps you shouldn’t be thinking that at all right now – you’d definitely bring it up later since those kinds of observations always did serve to throw them into bouts of lengthy, interesting conversation – considering the couple’s quarrel currently taking place right before your eyes.

“He never lets me make the decisions in this relationship.” Ricky complained loudly, not caring who heard him.

Niel rolled his eyes in response, “And have you ever wondered if it’s because you always end up saying stuff like that?”

Ricky faked a sniffle, shooting you glances with the attempt to gain your sympathies all the while, “You’ll make our moms sad with what you’re saying right now.”

“Then it’s a good thing they can’t hear me, isn’t it?” Niel snarled, gazing – unromantically – longingly at Ricky’s right eye, “Lest they not have to wonder why you went back home with a black eye by the end of the night.”

“You always say you’ll do it but you never do.” Ricky sang back, turning to you completely now, Niel’s wrath something he couldn’t have cared much of a single about right then and there. He smiled widely as he stepped forward and hooked his arm through your own, pointing incredulously at Niel, teasing him to no ends, “He loves me too much.”

And Niel’s next words were also directed towards you, though the sickenly sweet nature of Ricky’s own was nowhere to be found, “If I strangle him to death, will you promise not to report me to the authorities?”

“I can’t promise you that.” You shook your head grimly, and you could feel both Ricky beaming at you due to the fact that you sided with him over Niel and Niel’s rage at the peak of bursting as you continued with, “I was looking forward to being the flower girl, after all.”

There was always something comforting about being with them. After Sungjong had left you out to dry after drenching you himself, before you could even begin to fathom what unpredictable event could stumble in and surprise you any second now, it felt good to joke around for a bit. To laugh with them and smile with them and dance with them.

Because you never did find out where Sungyeol had gone off to.

If only that wasn’t the only promise broken tonight.

He sighed, something he felt like he hadn’t done in forever. Something he had done for at least the twelfth time since he left you. Though, a more accurate description of what he did would be that he deserted you at the dessert table, leaving you to the comforts of baked goods. Pastries you wouldn’t eat for everyone else’s sake anyway, considering what was in them.

You always did think of them like that. You always thought of all of them. Even if, in the past, you would ignore the cheesy, romance stuff, when it came to everything else, you were never the type to back down – even if they asked you to. How stubborn you were, then. How stubborn he was for running away when you were finally facing everything and everyone with the utmost of yourself. Holding nothing back. Becoming used to the cheesy, romance related stuff, no matter how red-faced it still caused you to go whenever Woohyun would attack you with a fleeting back hug when you entered the room.

It wasn’t fair of him to deny you the right to answer his feelings, just as he had the right to impose them upon you.

But, right now, he would continue to be selfish and unfair.

He wasn’t ready to stop being a “kid” just yet.

He was more than grateful he had two more years to go before he felt fantastic.

“Someone’s grumpy on such a nice afternoon.” A small voice came from his immediate right, “What a waste.”

“.” He cursed outwardly, startled by the person he hadn’t seen sneak up on him, not ashamed in the least at the fact that he had just cursed in front of them upon realizing it was her in the end, “You scared me, popping up out of nowhere like that.” He straightened out his clothes, as though her appearance somehow disheveled his own, “Don’t make it a habit.”

Bang Minah, in her pearl colored dress that made her look like a living doll, shrugged her shoulders, taking a small sip from the glass in her hand, “I don’t see why I should.” She stared down at the table Sungjong and herself stood in front of, mini-sandwiches and lovely little biscuits she could never bring herself to like the sweet taste of littered it in a peculiar, opulent fashion, “Nor why I would want to.”

Sungjong ignored the last of her statement, much more concerned with the first set of words she had used to surprise him with as he turned to her, feeling troubled over the state of his current expression, “Can you really tell though?”

Minah didn’t look at him in same, pursing her lips as she answered, “Considering the fact that you came storming over here the way you did about ten minutes ago, much too distracted by whatever it is you’re thinking about to notice me, before glaring at the food like it's been convicted of murder—“

“Wait, you’ve been here this entire time?” He interrupted, a bit too stunned by her blasé nature when it came to him to care about how he looked anymore, “And you didn’t say anything?”

“Again,” she shrugged for the second time, “I don’t see why I should have. Nor why I should have wanted to.”

Considering the terms they were on, he would respond the same way if she was questioning him the way he was her now. So, he said nothing more about her blatant disregard for him until an unbearably long period of time had gone by – making it unbearable to not say anything at all in the end. Instead, he focused back on the problem at hand. That is, the problem in his left hand, the one in his right still hiding under the curtain of ambiguity. 

“Well, you would be mad too if—” He began, only to stop. Only to turn away from her, back towards the criminal in front of him, chocolate chip cookies never looking so devilishly evil as they did then. Him never feeling as guilty as he did then, despite shouting at you moments ago. Because he had brought up a forbidden topic. One he vowed to himself to never speak to her regarding. For both himself, herself, and the sake of the person involved. The person she was so whole-heartedly devoted to in the past. A different kind of admiration, perhaps, but that didn’t make it any less than his own. That thought didn’t make him feel any less guilty than he already did.

Minah turned to him now, looking at him now that he wasn’t staring down her profile, the weight of his gaze too heavy for her to bear, too familiar to see face to face, “If, what?”

Sungjong shook his head, “Nothing.”

“Well, now I’m curious.” She emptily replied, lifting her drink to him afterward, not wanting to stand there watching him any longer, “Do you want something to drink?”

Sungjong shook his head again, all of his actions feeling so repetitive when he was with her. All of his tendencies and habits to selfishly think of himself first, to not notice those around him when he did, to hide his thoughts until they absolutely had to come out, staring back at him as though he were looking into a pastry lined mirror. She made him feel like the awful person he felt he was in that moment. Nothing was sugar coated. Nothing was decorated with ribbons and greens. Nothing was done up optimistically as it usually was. And, it irked him. He didn’t like it, knowing exactly how awful he was.

He wanted to get away from her, just like she did him.

“No, I’m fine.”

Minah hummed a tune he didn’t know, the noise piercing his eardrums, his thoughts wondering why she wasn’t leaving yet, his fingers clenching inside of his pant’s pockets, until it stopped, and she finally spoke up, “Even if I told you I poured this from a bottle of mango juice in the fridge?”

“Even if.” He rebuffed, playing dumb, knowing for a fact that she didn’t know nor was she supposed to know what  he was, “Though why that should matter—”

“I’ve noticed it.” She was the one who interrupted him now, the topic leading to that which neither wanted to discuss whether they really meant for it to or not, “That Myungsoo never eats or drinks when he comes to one of these parties.” She gripped harshly onto the glass between her slim fingers, voicing questions she knew would never be answered, or at least, not now, which was not something she hated in the least, in the form of brief comments based upon her past observation, “That none of you do.” Her glance made its way back to him, and she couldn’t help but notice how much he’d change since they first met so long ago, “Especially you. It’s not the first time you’ve looked at the food at my house like it could kill.”

Sungjong had no other thoughts, too stunned to say or think anything but, “I’m surprised you’ve noticed.”

He’s surprised she’s noticed anyone other than Myungsoo. He’s surprised she’s noticed any intentions past the obvious. He’s surprised by her on many levels he won’t delve into at the current point in time.

“After ten years, I would hope I do.” She dryly stated, taking another sip of her juice, feeling his eyes on her again. Feeling the need to look to them, because it was the first time she felt like she impressed him somehow. Like he wasn’t looking on at her in disdain. And she wanted to see an expression that wasn’t that. Any expression that wasn’t judging Sungjong or angry Sungjong because she had seen quite enough of both. She was genuinely curious as she decided to spare a glimpse at him.

But, she was ultimately unable to satisfy her curiosity as before she could even begin to catch sight of that unreadable expression in his eyes, that one that looked so unfamiliar she ventured to turn her head completely to catch more, to catch it all, faster, all at once, the lights turned off.

All at once, the afternoon became known to be what it truly was. What it had truly turned into while the two held a conversation both wanted to run away from yet neither wanted to leave first: nighttime. Gasps and small screams echoed through the partygoers, questions and the movement of feet could be heard coming from this way and that; people trying to find their way through the darkness.

She heard him shuffle in the darkness, his blindness seeming to startle him just as her presence had moments ago, “It’s probably just an electrical failure.”

And its safe to say she wasn’t expecting his next two words. Especially not the way he said them, as though right then and there, they were meant for anyone but herself: Bang Minah.

“Stay here.”

She heard his foot step down onto the lush summer grass, farther away from her. He was going somewhere. Why? Why, when it was nothing serious? Why, when it couldn’t have been anything serious? Could it? How, anyway? How would he be able to see, anyway?

Acting according to natural human behavior, she worried for him, the only person she knew to be by her side before nightfall overtook everything and everyone around them all at once, “Where are you going?”

He didn’t answer her. And she didn’t even have the chance now to look to him. To read his facial expression. To figure out, even if to the tiniest extent, what was wrong. Because something was. Because for some reason, something always was.

Demanding the truth right away never helped anyone anyway. Stalling him from where he needed to be right now wouldn’t help anything at all. So, she decided she wouldn’t.

“It’s fine.” She shook her head, even if she thought he couldn’t see her do it, “I don’t need to hear the answer now.” She strained her eyes, hoping she was looking at him, unknowingly missing by a good foot or two, a mistake that would be the source of laughter for him for the nights to follow, “Go." 

And within seconds, she could tell. She could tell he was gone. Which meant Myungsoo was gone. Which meant you were gone. Which meant she would have to stand and wait by herself until the power came back on.

Waiting.

Waiting for long awaited answers to long since asked questions. Waiting for the day everything would make sense, the moment which she felt both anxious and fearful of. Waiting in the hopes that she would always be left waiting, her fears greater than her desire for knowledge.

Waiting.

It never suited anyone.

And it certainly didn’t suit her mother then, who had no time to waste as her voice rang out above all the others, conveying a message that did anything but calm down the fight that enveloped everyone like a wet blanket, chilling them to the bone.

“Everyone, please listen.” Her shrill voice yelled out, “I have an announcement to make.”