Mir's back. He's back. Or at least, for now. For now, but that's all that matters. He's back for a second, he's barely peeping out of his shell, but he's back. He's crying, and I don't know why. But I hug him back anyway, because this is the first time he's actually seeked human touch, first time he's gone to someone willingly. I don't know what caused this, this sudden change, but I somehow know that this lucid moment for Mir wouldn't last long. So I cling to it, I cling to him as he sags in my grip. I close my eyes, and I feel his tears drip onto my shoulder but I don't mind, I don't mind. 

 

And when Mir doesn't make any move to let go, I don't, and we stand in silence in this house, this house on the blue, blue sea, that I think the afternoon sun must be setting by now. And then, a gasp, quiet but so audible in the silence, cuts through the air, and I open my eyes, and I see Joon. I see Joon in the doorway, his hands empty, his clothes plain, but his eyes so, so sad. So dark, so full of grief that I know he took Mir's disappearance and Mir's appearance so, so hard. And something else. Jealousy. Jealousy, and a hint of anger in his sad eyes. Mir looks up, too, and turns from me to Joon, and his old eyes widen, and his hands drop to his sides. I'm facing towards Joon, not Mir, but I see the slump of Mir's skinny shoulders, and I see the electric fury in Joon's eyes, his eyes, and his face. He's angry, and he's sad, and when he's sad he doesn't know what he saying, what he does. Joon is a bomb, a bomb that will be triggeed by the slightest touch, and Mir is a flower a foot away. Mir is delicate, and Joon knows that. Joon knows that, but he doesn't know what he does, and he only regrets it, he only thinks about what he says or what he does after the damage is done, when the bomb has already been tapped. 

 

And just like before, just like before when he exploded, I wince, I can't do anything, I prepare myself for the hurt that will fly from Joon to Mir, to Mir with his skinny, slumping shoulders and old, pained eyes, and scars, and empty face, the blank face. Mir. But Joon does something else; he steps back. His face doesn't go smooth, it doesn't go empty like Mir's would; it is still angry, it is still sad, it is still jealous of something. But he steps back, he thinks, he gives Mir a look of something that I can't distinguish, sadness maybe. Grieving. Because he is. Grieving. But he steps back, and he leaves. He turns, and he walks out of view. Mir watches him go, and as he turns, I glimpse his face. It is smooth, it is empty, but his eyes are sad and old and glittering with tears held in. 

 

I want to do something, anything, as the leader. But I don't know what happened, but apparently Mir des and Joon does and no one else does, no one else. Mir turns to me, finally, and meets my eyes. I can't hold his for long, and I drop my eyes, embarrassed. And when I dare to lift them again, Mir has looked away, and his smooth face is creased, and he is watched the doorway where Joon appeared and disappeared with his heavy eyes, but no one is there. But he watches as if he expects something to be there, something. But there's nothing, and as I watch him and he watches the empty doorway, no one appears. 

 

 

 

~~~

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

~~~

 

 

 

Mir just stands there, and after a while I realize I need to do something. I need to do something about Joon, unsteady, unreliable, Joon whose emotions and jealousy and sadness are not helping Mir, not helping any one of us. So I start towards the doorway, my mind strangly calm. Joon needs to hear this. He needs to pull himself together. 

 

But just as I step out of the kitchen, into the hallway where Joon appeared and disappeared, I feel a light hand on my shoulder, and I whirl around, knowing that Joon is not brave enough to walk up to me. In front of me is Byunghee, his big eyes soft, and I somehow know he knows what happened, and he knows something I don't. 

 

"Don't," he says, quietly enough that Mir, in the other room, can't hear him but it is still above a whisper. 

 

"Why not?" I whisper, and I'm suprised to hear my voice challenging and angry; I didn't mean to sound like that to Byunghee, who has done nothing to me. But he only looks back at me steadily with those chocolate brown eyes and that only makes me feel worse, it only makes me feel younger, even though he's the dongsaeng here. 

 

"This isn't your problem," he begins, and when I open my mouth to protest, he puts up a hand, signaling me to wait. "This is between Mir and Joon. Let them handle it." 

 

"But Mir clearly can't handle it!" I feel my voice rising again and I switch back to whispering, my frustration growing with every word, every true word, that comes out of Byunghee's mouth.

 

"Leave it alone, Seungho," Byunghee tells me, but I'm the leader, I should be able to solve things. This shouldn't be left up to Joon, an unsteady, jealous, emotional person and Mir, who has just been through hell. As if he can tell what I'm thinking, Byunghee speaks again. 

 

"They are both stronger than you think, Seungho. They need to do this." He leans closer, now. "Please, Seungho," he says, and I can feel my defenses loosening, unlocking, and I don't know why. 

 

"Please let them do this," he says, and then he turns, and leaves, but not before pressing something into my palm. 

 

When I am alone in the hall, I uncurl my fingers, and hold it to the light. An American nickel, sliver and thick and ridged, gleaming softly in the light.