"I can't change, praying is not going to help." I announce.

“Then leave.” was the final words I’ve heard from Dad before he left the room.

“Why?” I demand, shocked. Deep inside, I knew the answer to my question.

I feel a tinge regret for saying those words, or even thinking about it. I pack my folded clothes into a red suitcase gently, trying hard not to create wrinkles in the clothing.

I sigh as I think of many things. Often, the words I’ve uttered echo in my mind. I also think of how Key's house will be like. Do I have to leave this comfortable place that I have grown to love and stay in someone's house, just because of Taemin?

Is it worth it? What if he doesn't love me back?

Yet I know thinking of going back is futile (I can’t take back the words that I’ve said), as I zip the full suitcase and carry the suitcase the suitcase by the handle. I can feel the pressure against my fingers and honestly, it is hard to bear. I sigh as I turn to look at my room one last time.

All that is left is the bed that is in the middle of the room, the plastic cabinet that is empty and the wooden table that has nothing on it. I can hardly register the dull look of the room which is no longer mine. I sigh as I open the door and walk outside, hoping that someone will say goodbye to me.

I know that hyung will do that, but I don’t see him saying goodbye to me.

What happened to the hyung who accepted me even though I am gay? Why didn’t he say goodbye? Didn’t he attempt to know more about me? Was I wrong about ‘5 myths of gay people’? I wonder and those depressing thoughts should be enough to let a tear slip down my cheek, but I can’t cry now.

I sigh for the last time as I grab the doorknob and twist it. The thought of hyung going to work strikes me. Perhaps he doesn’t know that I’m leaving. Perhaps Dad kept it a secret because he was too ashamed of me. I step out of the house and rolled my suitcase, quickening my footsteps as I walk to the lift.

“Hello, Minho!”

.

Honestly, I do not expect a neighbour to see me with a suitcase. My heart skips a beat before I turn to see Taemin’s father.

What the , why is he in there?

“Hello, Mr. Lee.” I address him as polite as I can sound, hoping that he will not notice how much I quiver.

“Where are you going with that suitcase? Why isn’t your family with you?”

I gulp and try to conjure up something to tell him. If he knows I’m gay, I bet he won’t let Taemin near me, considering how Dad chased me out of the house.

“Uh...”

“I’m going on a trip to uh... Daegu.” I come up with a lame excuse. “It’s for the church.” I add, hoping that he will buy it (though his facial expressions tell me that he doubts it) while my grasp on the handle of the suitcase tightens.

“Oh, I see. Why isn’t your brother going too?” He asks. Does he even know anything about the church?  

“He’s busy.” I reply quickly. I hope it’s a plausible excuse, I hope that he’ll not know that I’m gay and I’ve got kicked out of the house because of that, I hope for many things at this juncture-

The doors of the elevator opens and both of us step in. He presses the “1” button and I watch the elevator doors close silently. The stifling silence is suffocating me, I fidget and grab the hem of my shirt, then crumple it when I clench my fist.

The door opens after some time and I walk away quickly to the bus stop where he will meet me.  




I watch the cars whizz by me. The foul smell of car exhaust makes its way into my nostrils. I must be weird to other people because I’m gay, wait, they don’t know anything about me. Perhaps it’s the red suitcase that catches their eye. Or perhaps they are wondering why I am not in the airport.

I take my phone out and check the message Key sent back to me the previous day. I am standing at the location where Key is scheduled to pick me up. I peek at the watch again and that only fuels my worries.

It’s 4.16 p.m. now! Why isn’t he here yet?

A tap on the shoulder commands my attention. I find myself staring at a teenage boy. The first thing I notice is his sharp nose.

“Hey Minho.” He addresses me mischievously.

I don’t even know this boy. How does he know my name?

“Who are you?” I ask instinctively, though his dressing and feminine facial features makes me think of Key.

“I’m Key, haha.” He lean in and whispers in my ear, “Yes, the one from Rateen.” Warm air hits my ears as he conveys this message and it feels ticklish.

“Anyway, my car is just parked nearby. Let’s go.” He gestures and moves. I follow him, pulling my suitcase along.



I think of a lot of things when Key is driving the car. Honestly, it is weird that I don’t even know Key’s real name. (Who the hell will name their child ‘Key’?) It is shocking that Key is driving, since he is young. Does he know the way home?

He told me that he was 17 online, but he’s driving?

I don’t even know how I let this thing slip.

I look at the tall buildings that the car whizz past and start to think of many things.



Last year, I had tried to deny everything. To deny that I was gay, to deny that I like Taemin, just like how I denied that I liked boys when I liked them during my adolescent years. I claimed that it was just fascination with someone, even when it seemed like infatuation, hoping that I’ll buy it but I can’t fool myself.

When I was 7, I liked a boy called SeungPyo. I didn’t know why, but I found him cute. I was clueless about love (even when dramas are about love, I still couldn’t relate to it) and I was thankful that I did not confess to him. Dad will probably take me to a pastor and do something to me.  

I tried to accept myself, but why wouldn’t my family accept me? Will my mom accept me? Does she love me enough? Does she know that I was being chased out?

What will hyung even do when he finds out that I’ve been chased out, or rather, I’ve left the house?



I notice the change in me when I’m reflecting deeply as usual (because I have nothing to do). These days, I’ve been cussing frequently. I used to cringe when I see the word ‘’ on the Internet (that word hardly entered my mind). My parents were careful not to let me hang out with bad company; Jonghyun and Taemin were very ‘cultured’ people.

I remember the first time I’ve uttered ‘’ when I’ve heard that word from Seungpyo. Honestly, I did not know what it meant. It was a bad thing that my mother was there because she gave me a hard slap that stung for minutes and demanded where I’ve heard that word from. Call me a fool but I refused to ‘frame Seungpyo’.

That slap won’t stop me from using that profanity in the future.

I stare at the darkening sky. I estimate the time to be 7 p.m.



“Hey Minho, we’ve reached our destination.”

I snap out of my trance and unbuckle my seatbelt before getting out of the car with a grunt. I trail after Key when he takes my suitcase out and carries them to a building.

“Key?” I mutter, hesitating on whether to thank him or not when we stand in front of an apartment in the 5th floor. He wheels my suitcase to a side and start taking off his sandals. I do the same.

“Yes?” He faces me.

“Thank you for everything.” I mutter once again.

“You’re welcome. Now come in.” He opens the door and steps in the house, lifting my suitcase up with a grunt. (Is my suitcase that heavy?)

I do the same, wondering how he heard me.

There are many things I can thank him for, I think, when I observe the living room, contemplating on whether I should sit. Like the fact that he had warned me to delete my browser history. I guess I managed to keep the fact that I go to Rateen a secret for weeks because I adhered to that rule.   

“Do you want something to drink?” Key shouts from the kitchen.

Or the fact that he offered to meet me at the bus station because I have no notion of going to Daegu via public transport. (Should I be cursed for being so pampered by my parents?)

“No thanks, I shouldn’t impose on you too much.”

“You know, you don’t have to be that polite.” Key states and I hear the clanking of ceramic.

Or the fact that he’s still treating me so good and even offering me a drink and a place to stay. Will his grandmother even complain?

I my chapped lips as I see Key place two cups of plain water on the table delicately.

“For me?” I ask tentatively.

“Yes, for you.” Key replies.

“How old are you anyway?” I ask, suddenly thinking about him driving.

“I’m 23 years old this year. Do you think I’m 17? What a joke.” He chuckles.

I wonder where his grandmother will be.