rec·og·ni·tion
The action or process of recognizing or being recognized, in particular.

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December 24 (Monday)

Perhaps some would have been wondering as to where Oh Sehun had been that fateful evening. It was he, after all, the boy with the lime scarf, who discovered Han Kyung Mi’s unconscious state. It was also he who informed Gongchan Shik of his special friend’s alarming manner. So where had he gone afterwards? He too, in fact, had things to execute that were just as important.

Unbeknownst to the treated bespectacled girl, the voices she heard outside her white ward mostly belonged to the two males — none other than Gongchan and Sehun. More unlikely for her to have known, they were having a rather heated confrontation, the type in which one would want to raise their voice in anger or exasperation. However, such a desideratum could not be achieved because the escalation of words was banned in the hospital. It is a place of the sick and injured, after all. And the pair was so, so horribly upset with each other. After the phone call that Sehun had made, Gongchan and Min Jae had actually rushed to the hospital by taxi. The girl’s parents and the classmate had arrived at the premise with the ambulance, and so they were really just waiting for the couple.

The eighteen year old male found himself ambulating the corridor in which had the room that his valued friend resided after immediate treatment, perhaps desiring to wait for the arrival of the older two. It was probable that his anxiousness caused him to react in such a restless mien as well. When Gongchan did make his appearance, Oh Sehun had not even the intent to be hostile. But he could not help it. He spat words of accusations almost instantaneously, the bitterness welling up within his own chest.

“How could you be so inconsiderate?!” snapped the boy, careful to control his volume. The older male, drenched with worry and concern for his bespectacled friend, was exceedingly stung by the seemingly baseless comment.

“Good grief, is that how you welcome your senior?” retorted the nineteen year old male. “Look, I have no idea as to why you said that, but I’m not going to take it to heart because I need to see my best friend.” Sehun stared at Gongchan with extreme perplexity. Was it possible that the aforementioned male was so horribly and unfortunately oblivious? The younger had heard a few fragments pertaining to Kyung Mi’s sister and Gongchan getting together, but nothing much beyond general details. His throat felt parched, but the vivid memory of the paintings, worked on so painstakingly, were all depicting the same soul. Gongchan Shik himself. The colours, even in the darkened attic, were obviously strange, but it was due to the artist’s monochromatic condition. Well, at least that was what he would have loved to believe. There were several sketches of the male, but he would always be in the field, in spite of his ill-coloured set of outfits. It was the flowers of the field that spoke so deeply to the supposedly insouciant male.

Each canvas had a different field of flowers. The first one had a field of acacias. The second showed a field of pink roses. The third one portrayed a field of daffodils. The fourth expressed a field of gardenias. Nonetheless, they all looked the same to the boy who found the girl unconscious that afternoon. His eyes had dilated, realizing the picture embedded within his classmate’s heart. All the said flowers carried the meaning of secret love. But that wasn’t the real thing that broke him. Almost, but not quite yet like the last unfinished one. The drawn Gongchan was painted accurately as ever — save for the colours, like his foreign red hair, really — with a partially coloured field of jonquil flowers.

The flower that begged the recipient to love the sender.

 He was so vexed for his friend. In the hospital’s corridor, it was no wonder he ended up exploding.

“You’re going to see your supposedly best friend even if you’re the cause behind her condition?” said Sehun menacingly. “Really now, Gongchan?” That definitely raised the older one’s brow. In spite of their previous encounters that weren’t too amiable, the younger had never referred him directly like this before. Things were getting hot indeed.

“If I am the cause behind it, I will fix it then,” mentioned Gongchan rather nonchalantly. “So if there’s nothing else you want to say, I’ll be going in to check on her now.” Oh Sehun couldn’t believe how the other was accepting the situation. Was he plain idiotic or something?

The eighteen year old stubbornly stood in front of Kyung Mi’s closed hospital door. As the two were of the same height, they stared at each other intensely with raw emotion. Beyond the door did lay a girl who mattered immensely to the respective males, after all. Min Jae wanted to speak, but her boyfriend kindly told her to refrain from speaking of anything. This was surely his predicament to face alone. So the girl remained silenced. The younger one’s eyes coincidentally flickered to the darkened spectacles that were located in the older one’s hand, and he felt a new pang of exasperation. Mrs Han had really given the spectacles to the nineteen year old the moment he arrived, now didn’t she? He felt demoted in comparison. How annoying.

“Fine,” said Sehun flatly at last. “I’ll let you pass without any trouble after you answer this. How is it that you still insistently want to see Kyung Mi even if you really might be the cause behind this? Why should you fix this mess if it really is your fault? And — what makes you think that she would forgive you?” The last one was added by accident due to his vivid recalling of the paintings. It still made him upset. The older one tilted his head imperceptibly as he acknowledged the unexpected torrent of questions.

“Then it’s time you understood how I do things, Sehun,” said Gongchan calmly. “One — I will never leave a mistake undealt with if I can help it. Two — I don’t know if she will forgive me if I am the problem, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t apologize for it.” But unmistakably, irreversibly; the next answer unlocked a wider perspective in the eighteen year old’s mind eternally.

“Three — Han Kyung Mi is family to me, and being a family means that we choose to want each other; to choose each other over our stupid slipups; and most of all, to be there for one another even when it’s smarter to not be there. It’s because I, at least, have decided to always care and look out for her. That is what a family is about, you know?”

Oh Sehun was indefinitely wordless, rendered to the loss of speech, muttering only a quick yet sincere greeting of thanks to the older, who smiled ever so gently before turning the doorknob to enter the aforementioned ward. The supposedly insensate male ran out into the cold frigid weather, where snow continuously piled on the streets, pulling his lime scarf properly to ensure sufficient warmth to meet him.

“I’ve been so stupid all these years,” chuckled Sehun breathlessly. “How could I have not realized…?” It remained indubitably unnerving that such words of wisdom had to roll off the older one’s tongue, but he was abundantly thankful. It was like the nineteen year old had known the perfect words to say.

“Thank you, Mister Shik,” were the words he had uttered just a few minutes ago during the final part of their confrontation, which indicated the return of their friendlier times. He was that grateful.

Even so, with much regret, the boy had to journey back to his apartment room first. There was something paramount that he needed. It was a mere card he had cast aside for so many years. Glancing at the street clock, he was dismayed to descry it to be half an hour past five in the evening. Yet his feet had not the wish to give up, and so he started running with undying determination. He had to make things right this time. He had to while the opportunity was beaming down on him. Arriving at his apartment in record time, Sehun hastily searched through his private quarters for the elaborate card. It was unique, and he was absolutely sure that he didn’t dispose of it. Luckily, because his place was rather empty in general, he found it in twenty five minutes. By then, the clock displayed twenty minutes past six.

With gritted teeth, the eighteen year old held the card tightly and left the premise immediately. Early yet joyous greetings of the impending Christmas day filled the frosty air, and laughter was easily exchanged on the street save for the odd few like Oh Sehun. As he walked briskly, he held the card out, concentrating on the address written on it. It was at an expensive restaurant. The words succinctly penned down on the pale texture a few years ago finally spoke to him with clarity.

“At the time of reading this, Sehun dear, you might not be willing to meet us again,” was what the message showed. “Your parents would like to ask for your forgiveness because of our wrongdoings, of not considering your part in this, but please, once you are ready enough, we would like to see you in this restaurant on Christmas Eve. It would be just the three of us all over again like it used to be. That’s what you’ve been wanting, right?” His heart actually skipped a beat upon reading the next line, for he had never seen it before. He had always thought that the seemingly mocking inquiry was the final — it turned out to be the penultimate one instead.

“We will wait for you, Sehun, year after year until you come back for good — because you’re always going to be our wonderful son.”

An odd laugh escaped the male after that.

“And I was wondering as to how stupid I would end up being,” uttered Sehun softly to himself. Lucklessly, the eighteen year old had dropped the card abruptly, and it sneakily buried itself in the thick snow. His eyes widened immediately at that. Remembering his earlier statement, the male wore a salient scowl.

“Alright, you silly self,” thought the boy sarcastically as he dug in the snow blankets furiously for the said item. “To your earlier query, you are very stupid this year.” It was hard work, but with much effort, he managed to retrieve the invitation card. Triumphant, this time he wasted no time in journeying towards the restaurant. He realized that he was running once again, this time with a smile. Just how long had he been craving to see his parents?

Upon arrival, in spite of his dishevelled look, the people in charge ushered him into the fine restaurant. The boy couldn’t help but to be awestruck, for his parents had really invested their heart and soul into this. He gulped, unable to recall the last time he actually saw his mother and father together in the same room. He was partly afraid that he would embarrassingly be overcome with emotions and end up bawling or something. Sehun shook his head then, trying to reassure himself that he wasn’t that soft. Perhaps if the said boy had known that it was not a matter of toughness, he would have been less worried about such trivial things. Nevertheless, that was not the matter at hand.

Cautiously, the male peered around the colossal restaurant to descry his parents. Where would they be seating? He had not the slightest idea if they preferred the window seat or somewhere totally irrelevant. The boy poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue, thinking carefully. It was then, however, the faintest suspire that caught his brief attention. Most discreetly, the eighteen year old focused his sight in the general direction of that human expression. Having a streak of luck, it turned out to be his parents. He was standing approximately five tables away from them. Or maybe even less, really. His ears strained to listen the next few words.

“Ah, I guess our son isn’t coming here this year either, huh?” mentioned his mother with a sigh. The man beside her, who was of course his father, gave her a heartfelt pat on the shoulder.

“He’ll come here,” said the man rather wistfully. “Just maybe not today.” There was a pause, and it was then his father suggested to his ex-wife to order dinner. Sehun felt hot tears threatening to escape him. Was this really how it was each year for them? During the past few years, why didn’t they choose to walk out of this expensive restaurant whenever he didn’t appear instead? They could have chosen to eat with their new families, instead of spending such a lonely and peculiar Christmas Eve dinner together like this.

But Oh Sehun wasn’t dumb. He might have been blinded, judgemental — but he knew absolutely why they had done so. They had stayed in hopes that their dearest son would come to them even when it became unlikely; clinging on to the possibility that he could have just been late for this special occasion. Witnessing his father ordering a meal with that saddened expression of his, the boy could take it no longer. Ignoring the classiness and the prestigious quality of the place, he spoke aloud.

“Dad, mom!” half-shouted Sehun, bracing himself for the momentous revelation. It began slowly at first. First, the two turned in the direction in which their son stood, staring in utter and genuine disbelief. Then tears — fresh liquid that fell freely down their cheeks. And on their son’s as well. The parents were glued to their seats due to their great shock and happiness, with the lady repeating words like, “I can’t believe it, I can’t believe it. My dear son!” and the man choking back words like, “You’ve come home at last,” with much struggle. And so he did now, didn’t he?

Walking up to their table in a dilatory fashion, the boy took his rightful seat at the table before glancing at his parents meaningfully.

“Dad, mom,” whispered Sehun. “Merry Christmas.” That greeting, then, was the beginning of repairing a broken family; of straightening strained ties; of choosing to love over loathing; of caring instead of distancing; of closing the rift of lost time.

The season of Christmas — it really is the time to forgive and forget the inevitable past, right?