Kyungsoo stares at the reflection in the mirror. He sees a man with meticulously coiffed hair and a nonchalant look on the face—all pressed up in a suit and polished to look like the occasional optimistic newbie on Wall street. It's definitely not him, Kyungsoo thinks, because for all he knows, he should be looking like the man who's ed up by Wall street, red-eyed and forehead permanently wrinkled from all the crying.

Except, he's never been to Wall street and he hasn't been crying from a massive decline of sales. He's been crying because of Jongin.

Kyungsoo glances at his bedside and sees the note Jongin left before leaving. Its ripped corners are taped to the wood and the ink on its surface is barely visible, but he doesn't throw it away. Instead, he treats it like an alarm, a permanent addition to his bedside, the only solid reminder that tells him Jongin left for good.

He reads the note once again, and winces at the fact that it doesn't hurt less when Jongin's thoughts are translated into definite characters in messy handwriting. The words glare up at him as if it they were part of the most convincing sentence man has ever structured. And in this he thinks that maybe Jongin's right. Maybe he does deserve someone better—maybe he should forget about Jongin, and this time, for good.

He rips Jongin's note off of the table and dumps it into the trash bin, along with the photo of him and his former girlfriend. He figures that letting things of the past be the first to greet him everyday when he wakes to turn the alarm off has been holding him back.

Memories are the mind's gift, but only until you open them and find out that what's inside is something you never wanted. Afterwards they become the undesired, the uninvited thoughts, the ghost that haunts you before you sleep.

Kyungsoo smiles after he's closed the trash bin's lid, realizing that he's finally doing it; he's finally letting go of Jongin.

But it's when he sits on the couch in the living room and turns the TV on, bread hanging limply in between his lips, that he realizes he can't do it after all. He can't forget about Jongin, not when their favorite cartoon is playing again, not when he thinks it's funny how their relationship is suddenly exactly like the cartoon. Jongin being the road runner who knows nothing but to run and Kyungsoo being the coyote who would do anything to catch him.

---

Kyungsoo curses after the tenth ring. He's been calling the same number for three times but, still, nobody picks up. He dials another number after the fifteenth ring.

It's after four seconds of an upbeat girl group callback tone when Baekhyun answers, “Kyungsoo?”

Kyungsoo sinks in his seat, sighing in relief, “Finally. Where's Chanyeol? Why isn't he answering the phone? I've been calling the office for three times. Is he not by the front desk? ”

There's a pause before Baekhyun answers, “Chanyeol's with me. We're at a grocery store.

“What? Why? Then who's at the office?”

“No one. It's Sunday. There's no work on Sundays, remember?” Baekhyun drawls, prolonging the last word for emphasis.

“Sunday?” Kyungsoo verifies. He's pretty sure yesterday was Sunday. He remembers reading the date on the newspaper Jongin had given him. But he can hear the dull sound of a shopping cart being pushed and Chanyeol's low voice on the other end, asking about what they should get for lunch. Clearly, Baekhyun's not kidding.

“Are you sure today is Sunday?”

“Yeah. October 19, 2014, Sunday. Kyungsoo... are you okay?”

Kyungsoo walks towards the front door and picks up the day's newspaper, which was dangling from the letterbox. His eyes brush past the headlines: 'economy falls into recession' and 'economic losses through drug addiction', and confirms the date just above it. It's different from the one he read yesterday.

Jongin must have given him a fake newspaper.

“Yes—just—can you take care of the office for a bit?” he says, running fingers through his hair in frustration when he realizes that maybe Jongin thought it was the only way he could get him to skip a workday; the only way to get him to spend time with the latter.

“This isn't about Jongin is it—“

“No!” Kyungsoo quickly denies, “No, I'm just... going on a vacation. To rest and clear up my mind.”

He lets go of air he didn't know he was holding in when he hears Baekhyun sigh, “Okay. Sure, don't worry. I'll take care of it.”

“Thanks, you're the best.” Kyungsoo glances at the door to his right which led to his own study. “I'll send the paperwork through fax.”

---

Kyungsoo prints copies of the most recent photo he has of Jongin, which was taken about two years ago, on photo paper. He listens to the hum of the printer, steady and unnerving in the silence of his study room, and watches how it spits paper out slowly, one inch after another.

Glossy photo paper sticks to his fingers as he touches it, wet ink smearing his skin and Jongin's smile against his fingertips. Jongin looks too young and fragile in the photo, age lost somewhere in between the thin line of ignorance and maturity. His hair is stuck to his skin, eyes crinkled, and smile widened as far as his lips could stretch; he's smiling the kind of smile Kyungsoo knew never reached his eyes.

Kyungsoo gently detaches the photograph from his fingers, careful not to smudge the image, and he thinks about how long has it been since the last time he saw a genuine smile from Jongin.

---

“Excuse me, but have you seen this man?” Kyungsoo says to the cashier.

He chews on his bottom lip when the woman leans towards him and squints her eyes at the picture he's holding up. She's the fifteenth person Kyungsoo has asked, and a bubbling anticipation arises in his stomach when he catches a look of recognition in her wrinkled eyes. But it dissipates as fast as it came when the woman shakes her head and frowns, “Sorry, but no. I haven't.”

Kyungsoo sighs, “It's okay.” He gestures towards the store's glass walls where a few fliers were already posted, weathered and peeling around the corners. “Do you mind, though?”

The cashier shakes her head again. There's a distant glow in her eyes when she smiles, “No, of course you can. Go ahead.”

Kyungsoo spends the whole day going in and out of every building on his street, asking people he doesn't know and pasting pictures of Jongin on every solid surface he can find: walls, lamp posts, and trees. He only goes home when the majority of the shops have closed their blinds, when the crowd of people have dispersed, and when the evening was suddenly too cold for him to bear.

But he doesn't sleep lonely, albeit only having the bottle of sleeping pills in his hand to hold for the night.

---

The next day is no different. Kyungsoo starts going to nearby hospitals, inquiring whether they recognize the man in the picture or have a patient named 'Kim Jongin'.

The first hospital politely said 'no', and so did the next.

The third one introduced him to an 85 year-old widower.

The last one, which was the closest to Jongin's neighborhood, simply told him to go home.

And so, he does.

After being passed by a few cabs for not sporting a well-pressed suit and a briefcase, Kyungsoo decides to walk. The street where he's in is dark; the only light coming in flickers of green, red, and orange, painting the black pavement in alternate succession. He's at Jongin's neighborhood, after all.

It's still nearing the end of autumn yet Seoul is already so cold. Kyungsoo walks with his head down, stuffing his hands into his jacket's pockets, and it's only a while before someone bumps into him.

Strong hands grip onto his shoulders, keeping him from almost falling back and landing hard on his bottom. “Almost didn't see you there,” the stranger smiles before walking away. Somehow, it brings a lot of memories.

Jongin had said the same thing years ago, but with a much lower voice. The kind that sends shivers down Kyungsoo's skin. It had been autumn that time too, the season wherein Jongin disappeared the most, and it was also the night before he left for the third time. Kyungsoo freezes in his spot when he realizes that it happened on the same street he's at right now. He shakes the thought away, looks up, continues to walk, and forces himself not to see—to remember—

Jongin had thrown an arm tightly around his neck that time, dragging him down the street, and maybe just a little closer to his chest. Kyungsoo had punched Jongin lightly on the shoulder, laughing, “What are you saying?”

“The likes of you,” Jongin had started, burying a finger over Kyungsoo's chest, “Need something to be noticed because you're too small. I think a billboard advertisement would suffice, don't you think? Or perhaps a newspaper ad, a page on a magazine—”

“Just because you're finishing as the top in our class this semester doesn't give you the rights to insult me. Who knows, the likes of me would actually make it bigger than you in the long run. Business isn't all about graphs and studies.”

“Yeah, who knows? I don't know anyone who does.” Jongin had chuckled, earning him another light punch from Kyungsoo. “Promise me you'll get one, though. If you want, we could get one together.”

Kyungsoo squeezes his eyes shut as he turns a corner, passing by the park where Jongin had kissed him in public. The swing where they sat is still there, its chain rusting from old age.

“Hyung, I wont be here for Christmas.” Jongin had announced, too out of the blue after cracking a joke Kyungsoo deemed was funny.

Kyungsoo had stopped laughing, wide grin pressed and shut into a thin line. “Why, because you're running away again? Jongin, you've left without saying anything for two times already this month—”

“I'm telling you now, Hyung. It's something important. I need to get better,” Jongin had said, kneeling in front of Kyungsoo who was sitting on the swing, all the while turning Kyungsoo's jaw slightly with a hand so that he was looking at him in the eyes.

Getting better at what, exactly, Kyungsoo had failed to ask because Jongin had looked so serious, like he was actually telling him the reason behind his disappearances, and it was not long before Jongin had pressed lips against his. Luckily, there had been no people around the park at that hour, but even if there were Kyungsoo wouldn't have stopped because all he could think of was how Jongin's mouth felt so warm, and how he could somehow taste the faint hint of a finished cigarette.

Jongin came back a month after Christmas but soon left again in the middle of their last semester. It was then that Kyungsoo completely stopped caring, or at least tried his best to. It was the only thing he could do when Jongin told him to forget about everything. He didn't care even if Jongin didn't show up at their graduation ceremony, even if Baekhyun had grabbed him by the collar, hauled him backstage, and asked him why he had let Jongin leave.

“He could have graduated with honors in our class if you hadn't let him leave. You know how much he wanted this,” Baekhyun had said, fist wrapped around the hem of Kyungsoo's collar.

“So what—”

“Stop acting like you ing don't care, Kyungsoo!”

“Why should I care? Huh? Tell me.”

Baekhyun had tightened his grip around Kyungsoo's collar. There was this unexplainable anger in his eyes. Kyungsoo couldn't quite point out where it was coming from. “You don't even know why he left.”

“It's because I don't care about Kim Jongin anymore.” Kyungsoo had torn Baekhyun's grip off of him and straightened his tie. “We're finished,” he had said before rushing to the stage where he was awarded as the top of their class.

It's when Kyungsoo stops by the bar where Baekhyun had told him that Jongin was ill that he successfully hails a cab. He scurries inside the vehicle, almost slamming the door behind him in an effort to relieve himself from the cold weather.

From the backseat, Kyungsoo can clearly watch how the building slowly fades in the distance, but he doesn't look back from the window, instead, he rests his head against it. He never looks back, because whenever he does, regret is the only thing that greets him—regret in the form of Jongin and missed chances.

His breath blows white condensation against the glass and blurs the city lights outside. And he wonders if everything would've been different if he hadn't let Jongin leave, if he had held on, if he had chased after Jongin.

The cab pulls at a stop a few blocks away from his house. Kyungsoo steps out and hands the driver paper bills, insisting that the latter should keep the change. And he does—anybody would, if given the chance—but Kyungsoo doesn't care because giving out extra cash didn't matter to him. He is someone who owns a page on a magazine, after all. He makes a mental note of telling Baekhyun to get them a billboard advertisement.

The walk towards his house isn't long, but his steps become uncoordinated by the time he starts walking towards the front porch of his house. His head is throbbing and he feels drowsy. He thinks he's going to collapse if he'd dare take another step.

The night is cold, yet he can feel sweat sticking to his nape and trickling down his back once he reaches the front porch. He looks up and his vision starts doubling, blurring, sharpening, and blurring, and sharpening—and suddenly there are three doors in front of him.

Fortunately, he opens the right one, gets inside his house, shuts the door behind him and—

Then everything turns black.

---

Pain is the first thing that greets Kyungsoo when he wakes up to a violent pounding in his head. He opens his eyes and winces at the bright light coming from the narrow crack on the door. The room he's in is dark, and it's only when warm bedsheets brush against his skin instead of cold cement that he realizes he's on his bed and in his bedroom. He grunts as he tries to sit up, pressing a palm on a spot on his forehead where his headache seemed to be the worst.

There's a low buzz coming from the living room and Kyungsoo quickly gets up, stumbling forward when his foot gets caught in the blanket. He runs towards the living room and expects to see Jongin lying on the couch, limbs splayed all over leather, watching a cartoon rerun, and ready to smile at him, but he stops in his tracks when he sees Baekhyun instead.

Kyungsoo smiles weakly to himself. He still has a knack for being wrong in things that involve Jongin.

Baekhyun is sitting in the middle of the couch, body leaning against the headboard. He's staring blankly at the TV screen, almost as if he's staring past it. It takes two mindless TV advertisements and a switch of a channel before he notices Kyungsoo's presence. He turns to face the latter.

“You're up. Are you okay? What happened to you?” He watches as Kyungsoo brings a hand up to massage his temples. There are faint creases appearing on the places he remembers were devoid of them before.

“Yeah I'm okay now, thanks. I was just tired—“

“Tired? Kyungsoo, you collapsed by the doorway and you're telling me you were just tired?”

Kyungsoo averts his eyes towards the TV screen in front of Baekhyun. He's not really in the mood to talk. The pounding in his head worsens by each minute he spends standing and his equilibrium is messed up. He feels as if he's trying to balance himself on a rope, tottering every now and then. The blur of the pictures on the TV screen only makes things worse.

Baekhyun looks at Kyungsoo and notices the unusual exhaustion in his eyes, bright red and teary from the glare of the TV screen. “Wait... you're not taking those sedatives again, are you?”

Kyungsoo inhales deeply. And exhales—

“Kyungsoo—“

“I said I was just tired! Okay!?” he exclaims, making his head hurt even more.

Baekhyun stares at him, speechless. He sighs as he searches for the remote and turns the TV off just as Kyungsoo lets himself drop onto the couch. “I'm just worried about you. You told me that Jongin came back.”

Kyungsoo turns to Baekhyun. But he doesn't say anything.

“You don't have to take those pills to forget him, Kyungsoo. I can take you back to—“

“I dont...” Kyungsoo pauses. He wants to tell Baekhyun that he doesn't want to forget Jongin anymore, but he knows it's not what the latter would want to hear. So he swallows the words down and chokes out a lie instead. “I'm not taking any pills, Baekhyun.”

Kyungsoo fiddles with the tiny scratch on the surface of the couch, tracing his fingers over the rough white trail of damaged leather when Baekhyun doesn't look convinced. “Why are you here anyway? How did you get in?”

Baekhyun shifts in his seat. “I came to give you back the paperwork you sent. They were all blank. I tried knocking, but you didn't answer and the door was unlocked so I opened it and found you unconscious on the floor—“

“Wait—Blank? The paperwork I sent to you were all blank?” Kyungsoo sits up abruptly.

“Seriously Kyungsoo, you didn't notice?” Baekhyun shoots him an incredulous look. He shrugs when Kyungsoo just stares at the ground. “Well, don't worry about it anymore. I'll finish them myself.”

Baekhyun gets up from his seat and grabs his messenger bag from the floor as he motions towards the door. But before he could move past the couch, a hand yanks him by the wrist and stops him.

“Hey, listen, I'm sorry for shouting earlier. My headache's that bad,” Kyungsoo says, his hand firmly latched onto the spot just above Baekhyun's silver wristwatch. He only loosens his grip when Baekhyun turns around to face him.

“Just... take a vacation, Kyungsoo. You clearly need it,” Baekhyun says, lips pressed firmly to suppress a sigh.

“Thank you for everything.“

“It's nothing, Soo.” Baekhyun watches with amusement as Kyungsoo cringes at the nickname he used to call the latter in high school. “Just make sure you get your back together before it's my turn to come to you and complain about Chanyeol. Or life. Or whatever.”

“Wow, just one day away from the office and you two are already a thing?”

“We've been dating behind your back for two months now. I wouldn't call it just a thing.”

“That's against office rules—“

“I bought dinner for you. It's in the fridge.”

Kyungsoo smiles because, of course, this is Baekhyun. This is the only person whom he could never win against. “Nice save.”

Baekhyun nods and playfully mouths an 'I know' before giving him a pat on the shoulder and heading for the front door.

Unlike Jongin, Baekhyun closes the door with a loud click.

“Jongin,” Kyungsoo mumbles as he lets himself fall back onto the couch again. He places a hand over his forehead and tries pressing circles on his temples with a thumb as he thinks about how the paperwork he sent to Baekhyun ended up blank and unfinished.

Unable to find a logical explanation, he doesn't eat the food Baekhyun bought for him. Instead, he takes a painkiller for dinner and three sleeping pills to bed.