cy·no·sure

A person or thing that is the center of attention or admiration.

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I don’t believe in relationships.

This is especially reinforced when the sole reason of a great coming together like one’s own parents’ marriage falls apart in time. At the age of fourteen, I can’t actually say for sure that I felt the full impact of the divorce immediately, but I knew I didn’t like the atmosphere. It was tensed and awkward, the kind of emotion felt when there’s a bad icebreaker. The red eyes my mother had and my father’s agitated look too, was not something I preferred. Luckily, they were kind enough to me, having not argued or taken their frustration out at me. But perhaps deep within me, I’ve already been changed. I was no longer the Oh Sehun my friends and teachers liked being around with, and I believe that I’ve turned far more robotic plus emotionless that I ever realized.

Then came the year I would age fifteen. I can be certain now that this is still the part I loathed most in my entire life, no matter how insignificant it has been. Since the custody laws indicated that neither of my parents was clearly above the other, I was frequently thrown back and forth betwixt the houses. It was something I was mostly alright with, because it was then I could pretend. Playing pretend that the other was around, even if I was already too old for this kind of silly mind game. Then once, I heard something outside my mother’s housing compound. I remember narrowing my eyes warily, hoping that it wasn’t some intruder since it was late. I took up a nearby baton that existed for security reasons and crept out the living room through the backdoor. I raised it to an offensive stance as I hid behind the bush when I realized that it was merely my mother with a man that wasn’t my father. She may be a divorcee, but I still felt crushed. Maybe it was because I witnessed that my childish dream of hoping that my parents would save their severed ties was impossible. After giving that man a kiss on the cheek, she turned around and saw me. Her shocked expression burned. I slept early that night.

Then things became worse. Perhaps I had been half-asleep ever since my parents’ split, for before I knew it, I was cordially invited for a big family gathering. Given the chance, I wouldn’t have attended it. I was always a little too late to realize the mess I’ve gotten into. I remember my father bringing over some nice clothes for fifteen year old me to wear, and I was pleased. It was a collared shirt with dark blue vertical stripes, and he even got me one of his ties to use. It was memorable, so, so memorable, until I found myself at a table of strangers save for my mother and father. I must have been brainless and tactless, surely I must have been. This broken family of mine had taken another step further from each other, breaking down into more pieces.

“Son, we would like you to meet your extended family,” is what they — which is my mother and father — have said with that smile of theirs. I stared, I really did.

They figured out peaceably in secret that it would be wondrous for me to meet my stepsiblings via a massive family dinner. How absurd. And they expect me to go along with it? I wish I could say that I am the noble one, able to sacrifice for whatever bit of family love I had left but I didn’t. How could I do so when these children of my parents’ respective spouses look at me with those pitying eyes, some with scorn and mockery? They were fine with a new mother or father because the one before was deceased, but that night, they knew that I was the one caught in the middle. Perhaps some would think that I should have felt like the most privileged one at that fine table, but if things were almost back to normal — meaning that my parents were capable to return to being in the same place — then why did I feel so different? How is it that I ended up feeling like the outcast? But deep down, I was aware of the reason that was gnawing away at my heart. They had chosen the others over me, they really had. Their failure in the first marriage was not the lack of love, but surely because me being there was not enough to sustain their lifetime vows. Even the children knew it.

And I abhorred how they were secretly trying to make me choose one above the other. Perhaps to get full custody this time or some trivial things like that. I was freezing my own heart with each passing second. Even when my parents were together, I was often tested with seemingly innocent questions by them since I was a child. Inquiries like “Tell me, who do you think loves you more, Sehun? It’s daddy, don’t you think?” or remarks closely related to things like “If you say you love me more than your father, then I promise to get your favourite ice-cream, okay?”. I was too young to know back then. Would I have prevented this from happening if I had known? I was unable to bear all of this weighty stupidity.

“Sehun, would you like— “ began my father that belonged to another now, but for the first time in my life, I had interrupted him. The rest of them at the table were evidently astonished by my bad behaviour, and I only spoke of one thing.

“I would like to shift out of this family,” I confessed bitterly. “I cannot do it. I no longer belong here.” Dinner plates crashed onto the floor that night, and that was the start of the ruin.

Albeit the arguments and protests, I was allowed to shift out of my place. However, the conditions were that I had to seriously take care of my own being. In conjunction to that, my separate parents agreed that they were to provide money for the apartment room’s rent and my pocket money. I acquiesced to that demand since it would be easier that way. They were mostly displeased that I would be going to a differing school, since that spelled out the word troublesome with the spate of necessary forms to fill. I remember glancing coldly at the stiff papers, wondering as to whether I should write in two addresses or not. The last thing I wanted was to attract attention at a new area. Then I smiled a smile that a stoic fifteen year old boy could, and I wrote the address that led to my apartment room. There were no questions that rose due to my newly developed evasive skills; I must admit that much at least.

The years passed, and I grew colder and colder. I just knew it, but it was the numb feeling I didn’t want to let go of. It was something I intended to live with. In my classes, I wasn’t particularly rude or anything of that sort, but I never made an effort to get close with people. Why should I when surely those relationships didn’t last? I might as well accept that I wasn’t going to open up to my peers. So I didn’t. The only company I had were the stray cats or dogs at school which I patted sometimes, not too often or else they’ll follow me into the hallway and try to bite off my shoes. That would never do. I did my classroom duties, I did my homework, and I studied. I was the archetypal student on a lower level, and I was indubitably soulless when doing so. I think the only times I actually did something wholeheartedly was when I did my part-time jobs. There were just two, one at the petrol station and one at the back of a convenience store. It wasn’t like I desperately needed the money, but I felt that if I ever needed something extra, then I need not bother my parental figures.

It is undeniable that I began to feel tired often. Some of the shifts were late at night until the following morning, and so I tended to arrive a little later at school. Once, I didn’t wake up when my alarm rang and so I had to skip school. I mean, come on, I stared at my bed hairstyle for a long while with the use of the mirror before looking to the clock that showed ten in the morning. Now, that was only a one-time thing. Even so, I was reluctant to give up on my jobs. After doing the needed things that morning, I went out for a nice jog before running off for one of my duties. At least I didn’t feel like a slacker in spite of missing school. By the time I settled everything, it was raining heavily that cloudy night. I recalled scowling, noting that I was devoid of a useful umbrella but I needed to leave in that instant. I only had myself to blame for working overtime. So the eighteen year old me ran hard. The distance wasn’t particularly humongous, but in that pluvious weather, it felt like everything was against me.

Then, against all odds, I had to blink quizzically at the sight I saw in front of my apartment door. It was a bespectacled classmate of mine. She appeared to be relieved to see me.

“Sehun!” she began with a smile, but then it turned to a frown. “I came here a few times already today— oh; you got caught in the rain?” I nodded nonchalantly, and said no more for my only intention was to get into my place. I didn’t really care that she was even here. Yet it appeared as though she was blocking me. I knew I glared at her.

“As you know, I am cold and wet,” I had mentioned icily. “So do move and allow me to enter.” Then the tinted spectacled girl appeared embarrassed, smiling sheepishly.

“Erm, yes,” she had agreed mildly. “But there are some papers in class that you needed to have but you weren’t around today in school…” With that, I kept my sharp mouth shut and merely opened the apartment door. I went in without inviting her inside, and took a cloth so that I wouldn’t wet the aforementioned papers that I hadn’t seen before her hasty explanation.

I peered closely as I took them from the girl who was standing outside my place.

“You’re not the class monitor, now are you,” I remembered stating. She had grinned back then, and shook her head, mentioning it was a mere favour. Then her inquisitive eyes just had to observe the space beyond me, and then she actually noted that it was quite empty.

“Your family must come home late, huh?” she began suddenly; unaware of what she had just started. “I came here after school and before dinner, yet there was no response when I knocked. Now that it’s after dinner, I’m glad I ran into you at last. When are they coming home? Soon?” Without her knowledge, her naivety had stung me badly. The fact that she referred this emotionless place as my home was unbearable. I stared at her coldly back then, forgetting that I was still drenched from the rain.

“No one’s coming home,” I whispered acridly, and closed the door on her without a mere word of thanks. There I was, being uncivil towards a nameless classmate of mine.

Yet, due to a tiny bit of curiousity, I eventually learnt of her name as I drifted in and out of school. She was known as Han Kyung Mi, or something like that if I had remembered wrongly. It was something I didn’t really think of afterwards this year, since something new had grabbed my attention — the appearance of can drinks. I was sleepy, and my left hand accidentally slid into the desk. It was then I felt a metallic-like object one fine May morning. I had pulled it out discreetly and saw that it was kiwi-flavoured. I was just so puzzled, to be quite honest. Even so, it appeared that it was really mine to take, and so I took it as a random treat. How queer. At least it won’t happen again. Or so I had thought. They continued, although not daily, but I was able to discern a particular pattern. One would usually lay hidden underneath my desk on Mondays and Thursdays, times in which I would arrive to school slightly later. So it turned out that someone did notice my subtle tardiness.

Then it was during the month of July that I finally found out who it was the giver without meaning to. My late night shift was cancelled extemporaneously, and so I was able to arrive at school at my usual time that Monday morning. I was on my way to the classroom when I overheard something. Something that sounded like some immature girls picking a squabble. I only shook my head, mostly for myself, since I didn’t intend to get involved in it. So I stayed away, but their voices were remarkably loud. Well, at least the supposed accuser.

“Han Kyung Mi, why are you even doing this?” pointed out a girl, and upon hearing that name, I was interested enough to peek. With that, I saw that my spectacled classmate was holding a cranberry flavoured can drink. My eyes dilated immediately.

“Look here,” Han Kyung Mi had mentioned mildly with a dissatisfied expression. “We’ve been through this before. Unless you like him or something, I don’t see why I can’t do this for him.” Oh, so it wasn’t her first time having this kind of conversation? That interested me even further, honestly.

The other girl looked affronted.

“Me liking that emotionless boy?” she protested. “Surely not! I just don’t see why you wouldn’t do it face-to-face then, Kyung Mi. It sounds more like you have a crush on him or something.” I remembered being extremely confused. If they were referring to me, then the girl is accusing my tinted spectacled classmate of liking me in that way? Impossible. With that, I saw that Kyung Mi merely sighed.

“You know, people still do things without wanting credit and honour in return,” she ended flatly, and entered the classroom. It appeared as though the little muddle was over, but I was still trying to piece things together. So that would surely mean that she was giving me the drinks, right? For nothing in return? Later, I had walked in ever so casually by the side door and checked underneath my desk. I felt stupid, because I didn’t feel anything. Surely it was just a coincidence— then I felt it; the familiar structure of the drink. When I withdrew it, it was cranberry flavoured. I couldn’t withhold the smile that grew on my face.

“Han Kyung Mi is idiotically kind,” was the statement that fleeted past my mind, and I allowed it to stay without a single fight. However, I didn’t want to ruin her efforts for sneaking the drinks during the particular days, so I didn’t break the secret. It wasn’t like she would have known that my shift was freed up that one day. So I never told, even if I wanted to so dearly speak of my gratitude towards her. This act she has done not once, not twice or thrice, but actually over and over was overwhelming. A part of me decided that I should just be her friend in return, but I didn’t because I knew of her male best friend that was the constant companion. She didn’t need me to be around. Even so, I try my best to purposefully consume the said drinks whenever she’s looking in my direction — of course I’m sure that it isn’t directed to me. Then she’d smile. I believe that is enough.

At least, I thought so until the return from the August holidays, and that one rainy afternoon that dampened the Tuesday mood. It was just like me to not bring an umbrella because I didn’t have one, and I was thinking of staying back at the cafeteria when my eyes fixed on a familiar figure. It was Kyung Mi with an umbrella, but she seemed sad. Perhaps it was due to the absence of her best friend. I frowned, because I truly remembered seeing him around that day at least. It must have been related to studies then. My initial plan to stay back began to fade the more I thought of something irrational and out of my usual thinking style. My feet were already making their way to a nearby shady tree as my principles began to make a loophole; a poor excuse. All of my life, I knew that relationships fell apart and that nothing with people would ever last long, but a part of me wanted to try once more. Once more for the girl who was so kind, and didn’t need to wear an expression like that on her face. And before I realized it, my time for turning back was over and done with because I ran in the wet weather until I had stood next to her. Riled up with adrenaline that I hoped she couldn’t feel — I made a request.

“Kyung Mi, may I share the umbrella with you?”

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