Himchan looks down, observing the people who walk through the smoggy streets below, the never ending traffic doing nothing to lessen the pollution. The atmosphere around him is contaminated, stained by the factory fumes not too far away, dusting the sky in a dull, earl grey.

 

He crosses his legs into a more comfortable sitting position, lightly placing both of his palms on the ground beside his legs. And instead of being irked by the polluted atmosphere, Himchan merely watches with slight interest as columns of dark particles rise from the vertical pipes before dispersing into the air. There is just something strangely fascinating with the way how the smoke would spread over everything and blur out the rays of sunlight like a translucent veil.

 

There is also something fascinating with how the grey tendrils would crawl away from the particles of darkness and twirl around everything, like badly tended creeping vines, suffocating whatever it is in its hold.

 

Himchan watches with heavily lidded eyes as one of the smoke tendrils crawls towards him, twisting and twirling around his wrist, gently tugging at his hand, as if beckoning him forwards.

 

And so Himchan gets to his feet and follows.

 

One step, two steps, three steps towards the edge.

 

He takes another unconscious step forward and he's now right at the edge of the rooftop of his apartment. The grey tendrils, now wrapped around his entire arm, insistently pulls and-

 

A hand grabs at his other wrist and pulls him back just as Himchan is about to step off the building.

 

That was the day when Himchan met Junhong, the lanky young boy with faded pink hair.

 

Hi, I'm Junhong.

"Oh, uh- hey, there."

Where're you going?

"N-nowhere. Nowhere."

Are you sure?

 

Alright. Are you gonna be okay?

"Yeah, I- yeah. I'm okay.

I'm okay."

 

 

It has been almost three weeks since the last time Himchan had seen Junhong, and the young boy had completely slipped from his mind, barely hanging onto the edge of his consciousness, just like the steam rising from his cup of coffee, gradually disappearing from his sight.

 

"I'll be off then, 'Chan! See you tomorrow!"

 

Himchan turns away from the coffeemaker and waves goodbye as his fellow co-worker takes his leave. Although it is ten minutes before closing time, the majority of the customers have already left; even the last few of them had gone not long after a few minutes. There is nothing much to do, all the cups were washed and dried, the floor has already been swept, and his co-worker just took out the trash together with him on the way out. Himchan had even wiped all the tables clean with the washcloth, which now hung from the water tap, left to drip-dry.

 

Heaving a small sigh, he grips the freshly brewed Americano in his hands, relishing in the way how the warmth seeps through the thin paper cup and warms his palms. He makes his way towards the tables and slips himself into one of the window seats. Himchan gently blows on his beverage, watching as the steam crawls up the window, fogging up the glass in a translucent sheen. A small smile makes itself known on his face as Himchan recalls how a hand would reach out beside him and draw a smiley-face on the glass before the fog eventually fades away. His grip on the coffee cup tightens as the little voice in his head reminds him that, had it not been his fault, the smiley-face can still be drawn there by the same hand, and--

 

A chime rings out as the door to the shop opens, shaking Himchan out of his reverie. He looks up, only to see a tall and lanky boy enter the coffee shop, bringing in a strong sense of familiarity with him.

 

Himchan remembers his name just as the boy approaches his table with a shy smile, the right side of his cheek dimpling.

 

Junhong.

 

Do you... mind if I sit here?

"Oh. Of course.

Would you like a cup of coffee?"

No, it's alright. I'm good.

How are you?

 

 

Too caught up in conversation with Junhong, Himchan had only realised it was way past closing time a little too late, when he absently glanced at the round clock hung on the opposite wall. Fifteen minutes to eight. The darkness of the night sky has already started to reign. Despite not knowing the other boy at all and only meeting him for the second time, it was surprisingly easy for them to flow along in casual conversation, after the initial awkward moment, of course.

 

Getting up and discarding the paper cup in the newly emptied trash can, Himchan proceeds to go around checking the coffee shop one last time, waving off any of Junhong's attempt to help with a simple 'Nah, it's fine.'

 

The last of the lights are turned off with a final click of the light switch, and Himchan ushers the young boy out the door.

 

He closes the door behind him, giving the handle one last twist to make sure that it is properly locked. He pockets his keys and turns to face Junhong. The faded pink of his dyed hair glints silver under the light of the street lamps. Somehow, the young boy looked other-worldly beneath the yellow glow, with the way how his skin looked so pale he would fade away, away from Himchan, like an ethereal being.

 

"It was nice talking to you, Junhong-sshi." Himchan shakes the thought out of his head and flashes a friendly smile towards the younger boy. "See you around." 

 

"Yeah, see you around..."

 

Himchan had barely taken ten steps away when he hears running footsteps behind him and feels a hand grab onto his upper arm. "W-wait!"

 

He raises his eyebrows, turning around to face the younger boy. Junhong immediately lets go and rubs the back of his neck in embarrassment. "I uh... never got to know your name."

 

"...It's Himchan."

 

It was nice meeting you again, Himchan-sshi.

(I'm glad you remembered my name)

"Likewise.

Hey, about the other day--"

That day, you--

"Ah, sorry."

No no no, you first.

"Okay. About the other day, I never got the chance to thank you.

So, thank you, Junhong.

You saved my life."

 

 

Ever since that day, Junhong would always show up at the coffee shop, just a few minutes before closing time, when the shop is practically empty. Sometimes he would help Himchan with cleaning up; sometimes he would just sit there and watch as Himchan wipes the counter dry; sometimes they would just sit by the window, chatting away comfortably as the steam from their coffee would rise and fog up the glass window.

 

Slowly, but surely, Junhong had started being a constant in Himchan's life as he unconsciously waits for the young boy to show up at the coffee shop. The young boy's presence had slowly made itself known, small, intangible spirals of faded colours gradually filling in the grey zones of Himchan's life.

 

Himchan hadn't even realized it until his co-worker made an offhand comment one day, on how he seemed to be stalling the closing time lately.

 

"Hey, 'Chan?"

"Yeah, Jin?"

"Met someone lately?"

"Nope."

"I see."

"What's up?"

"Oh, nothing. It's just, you seem... lighter these days."

"Was that a jab at my weight? Do you think I should--

"No."

"I haven't even finished my sentence yet!"

"Himchan, no. If you lose any more weight you're gonna end up disappearing altogether."

 

"You sure you haven't met anyone though?"

"Of course not.

...Bro. What you looking at me like that for?"

 

 

It's a cold, rainy morning.

 

The clouds in the grey skies outside are crying, their teardrops hitting the ground in splashes as they tried to cleanse the streets of their dirty sins and pollution.

 

Himchan buries himself deeper within his comforter, wrapping the blankets a little tighter around himself to warm his cold body. The digital clock on his bedside table read 06:03, he had at least thirty minutes to lay in bed before getting up for work.

 

Himchan shifts around, turning his head to watch the rain from outside mercilessly patter down on the window. Droplets of water slides down the glass pane, leaving behind a trail of cleanliness which he hadn't seen since the last time he bothered to wipe the glass clean.

 

Bzzt. Bzzt.

 

Himchan's phone vibrated twice, signaling an incoming message. He lets out a small groan, reaching out a hand and fumbles around for the rectangular piece of metal.

 

'Always the early riser', is what Himchan thinks with a wry smile as he brings the phone up to his face, only to see a familiar name which had appeared on the screen.

 

However, the smile fell from his face once he reads the message.

 

hey, lets go drinking 2nite; same time, same place? my treat

From: Jung Daehyun, 06:05

 

Memories of loud music and drunk, raucous laughter, the screeching of sound careless car tyres and a sickening crash flashes across his mind. Himchan remembers the panic, the way how his world went black, the white walls and monotonous beeping almost immediately after, and--

 

'I'm sorry, but your friend, he--'

 

No.

 

Himchan wills for it all to go away before replying to the message with shaky hands.

 

nah, i'll pass

To: Jung Daehyun, 06:08

 

y not? its been a while since the last time we drank 2gether

From: Jung Daehyun, 06:10

 

Himchan's thumbs pause over the touchscreen of his phone as he struggles to type out a reply.

 

No, there is no more 'we'.

 

Barely a minute later and his phone vibrates in his hands. Something within him cracks as he reads the words on the screen.

 

ure still not over it, r u?

From: Jung Daehyun, 06:11

 

His chest hurts. His heart hurts. Himchan feels sick all of a sudden. He doesn't feel like getting out of bed anymore. Himchan thinks he'll have to give a call to his co-worker later, telling him that he'll be skipping work for the day. Maybe he'll just give some excuse about waking up with a horrible cold. It's raining, after all. With that in mind, he places the device face down on the bedside table. Himchan once again buries himself in his comforter, hoping that the same would be done for those memories.

 

Moments later, his phone vibrates twice.

 

Himchan doesn't bother to check it.

---

From: Jung Daehyun, 06:15

 

Delete this message? This action cannot be undone.

YES               NO

 

Message deleted.

 

 

hey dude. not feeling well so cnt make it 2day. sry bro

 

ok. want me 2 come over? jst baked some scones. still early, could bring them 2 u

From: Kim Seokjin, 07:45

 

nah, its fine

To: Kim Seokjin, 07:48

 

alrite. get well soon bro

From: Kim Seokjin, 07:55

 

thanks

To: Kim Seokjin, 07:57

 

 

It's almost half-past noon, and the rain still hasn't let up yet.

 

The skies are as grey as ever, if not a slight shade darker as the heavy rain clouds all gathered together in the dull, dull, sky.

 

Himchan is once again sitting on the rooftop of his apartment, arms hugging the knees drawn to his chest, unmindful of the falling rain. This time, instead of looking down, Himchan closes his eyes and tilts his head up, letting the cold droplets of the falling rain splash onto his face, wetting his whole already-drenched being. His dark hair is plastered to his face, same goes for the clothes which he had donned for the day, which stuck somewhat uncomfortably to his body.

 

He shifts around, hands bracing back against wet concrete as he opens his eyes to stare out at the horizon. The far expense of the crying grey skies is what meets the eyes. And even through the heavy rain, the columns of smoke from the factory pipes can be seen dispersing in the air, although there aren't as much as there were on a non-rainy day.

 

With the sound of the rain droplets splashing on and around him, Himchan quietly watches as the dark columns rise merely a short distance before being harshly beaten down by the cleansing tears, mercilessly ridding the world of its horrible pollutions, leaving little to no survivors in its wake. Himchan watches as yet another one of the surviving smoke tendons manage to slowly curl and twine its way towards him with much effort, twisting and turning, twisting and turning, slowly coming closer and closer.

 

With each effortful twirl the smoke tendrils made towards him, Himchan watches as parts of it gradually get beaten down by the rain. By the time the tendrils manage to crawl its way towards his outstretched palm, Himchan can literally feel it suffering, struggling to hold on in its last moments, only to meet its impending end as the water droplets shot the last of its remaining life away, never to rise up again.

 

Himchan's eyes suddenly widens and he quickly brings up to cover his mouth as he heaves forward and--

 

"Aa-choo!"

 

The sneeze wrecks through his body and causes him to shiver lightly. Himchan mutters an inaudible 'Excuse me.' which reaches the ears of no one, and he chuckles wryly.

 

He guesses he’ll soon have a concrete reason to not attend work now.

---

 

The rain has slightly lifted.

 

Himchan's fingers and toes are feeling numb and he’s shivering all over. He reckons it’s time to go home.

 

But he doesn’t want to.

 

The rain may be cold, but it’s comforting and cleansing, and Himchan thinks— he thinks that if he stays out just for a little while longer, the falling rain might just rid him of his sins and—

 

And maybe he’d be forgiven.

 

Himchan lets out a sigh and lowers his head.

 

(He wonders if forgiveness comes that easily.)

 

Out of the corners of his eyes, he catches sight of approaching worn out sneakers heading his way. Curious, Himchan turns around and looks up, only to meet eyes with a concerned looking Junhong, holding a black umbrella high in his grasp, shielding them from the rain.

 

The rain stops falling over him.

 

"Junhong?"

Himchan-sshi?

What are you doing out here?

"I'm just- thinking. I guess."

I see.

 

 

For a while Junhong silently stands beside Himchan, and the both of them stare out at the falling rain.

 

"Junhong, what--" Himchan starts to ask, but the words die in his throat the moment their gazes meet.

 

What brings you here? drifts between them, unspoken, yet loud and clear. Junhong looks away, opting to stare at the raindrops as they splash onto the cement roof of the apartment. The black umbrella in his grasp casts a shadow across his face, shielding his eyes, and Himchan wonders.

 

Eventually, Junhong exhales, long but light, and Himchan's ears barely caught the young boy's whisper of an answer.

 

"I just... felt like I should be here."

 

C'mon. Lets go.

"Where-"

To your home, of course. You're shivering.

"No, I'm n- aa-choo!"

You're gonna get sick if you continue to stay out here like this...

 

 

"Come on in."

 

Himchan steps in through the door, grimacing as a cold blast of air hits him in the face. He must have forgotten to turn off the air conditioner again. He holds the door open for Junhong, who was busy with attempting to shake the umbrella dry. Water drips from his wet clothes with every moves he makes, the water droplets dripping onto the polished floor.

 

He tells the young boy to just leave his umbrella by the doorway as he heads towards the kitchen. Himchan's socks make sqeulching sounds against the floorboards and he almost slips. With much difficulty, he peels the socks off and drops them into the laundry basket by the kitchen door.

 

Himchan proceeds to fill the kettle by kitchen the sink with water. While waiting, he tries to dry his arms and torso with the nearby kitchen towel, making a mental note to rinse it later. Himchan's mind barely acknowledges the sound of his front door closing, as well as the sound of approaching footsteps as he struggles to get his hands to curl and turn off the water tap.

 

A hand places itself on top of Himchan's shivering ones, halting him in the process of placing the kettle atop the stove.

 

Despite the cold, Junhong was warm. It's a welcome contrast to the coldness of Himchan's hand.

 

Here. I'll help.

"Ah- thank you."
 

 

The rain outside continues to fall, its melody nothing but a mere monotone when compared to the light laughter heard in the sparsely furnished living room of Himchan's apartment.

 

He and Junhong are sitting on the couch, a blanket wrapped around Himchan's shoulders and a mug of hot cocoa in his hands. Junhong's drink was left to cool on the coffee table as they made conversation with each other, with the soft murmuring from the television to fill up the occasional lapse in silence.

 

One topic leads to another, and soon they're trading stories about themselves. Himchan tells Junhong about his high school days, when he was extremely clumsy and socially awkward, and how it all changed when he's had enough of being ridiculed by friends and family alike and went on a diet that just might have turned his life around.

 

(It's a story that only his closest friends and family knows, and, he's actually okay with sharing it with the pink-haired teen beside him.)

 

In return, Himchan knows more about Junhong-- he learns that Junhong actually doesn't know much about himself, and how everyday he would struggle to remember, even though--

 

"--it's a lot like... trying to grasp at straws. It's useless, trying to remember something I know I've forgotten about myself, and not knowing what it is--

 

(Amnesia..., a part of Himchan's brain whispers, but he doesn't say a thing, and only nods)

 

"--but I can't help but hope, y'know? That someday- someday, I'll be able to recall my past memories."

 

Despite that, there was something the pink-haired boy could remember without much difficulty, something that he knows with clarity: Junhong  used to have an older brother, who loved and cared for him and swore that if he could, he would have given the whole world to Junhong if that was what he wanted. And, and in return, Junhong loved his brother back, with all his heart and all his might, but one day--

 

"--one day, I- I woke up and he's just... gone. My brother, he... left."

 

For a long moment, neither of them says anything. The muffled sound of the falling rain outside suddenly seemed ten times louder, drowning out the even the hum of the television between them. The atmosphere of the room turns melancholy.

 

Out of the corner of his eyes, Himchan sees the tendrils of grey-- those that somehow managed to survive the wrath of the cleansing tears-- ghosting across his window pane, like jagged cracks forming across glass.

 

"There are days when I just- I just wished that I could completely forget about it too, just like everything else." Junhong's voice was small. Subdued. Broken and frayed at the edges, barely held together by nothing but a thin thread that keeps him from falling apart. The rest of his words comes out in a barely audible whisper, and the tendrils of grey weakly tightens around Himchan's chest.

 

"It'd hurt less that way."

 

Junhong's head is angled downwards, his eyes shadowed from view as his hands clenches into trembling fists.

 

Himchan places a comforting hand on Junhong's knee, and the young boy looks up. There's a lost and empty look in his eyes which Himchan knows all too well-- after all, he sees it every time he looks into a mirror. Maybe Junhong's are a little less broken and dull, but still.

 

(Himchan understands.)

 

Wordlessly, he reaches out to the young boy, and Junhong goes to him.

 

"Come, let me give you a hug."

 

It just hurts so much. Why- why-

Why do we always remember the things that hurt us the most?

"I don't know, Junhong. I don't know.

Hush..."

 

 

 

H-Himchan-sshi?

"Yes, Junhong?"

Can I c-call you Himchan hyung, intead...?

"Oh. Of course. You may."

 

Thank you, Himchan-hyung.