a piece of me for you to keep
(sir dandelion, full bloom)

 

— ♦ — ♦ — ♦ —

 

“I thought you didn’t like going to hospitals.”

 

The car’s engine hums quietly in the skeleton of the car as top star Kyungsoo’s manager, Jongdae, drives him to Uijeongbu for the next schedule. Large black van against a street of trucks and inexpensive sedans, the notable celebrity vehicle alerts the city’s people of a rare arrival. They’re approximately one hour away from Seoul by bus; that much, Kyungsoo remembers. In retrospect, it’s not something easy to forget.

 

Staring outside at the semi-urban streets much quieter than that of Seoul’s, Kyungsoo rubs circles into the door handle with his index finger. “Please consider our request” St. Mary’s Hospital had said, an envelope begging for a fansign event sent with a package filled to the brim with letters written by patients; his fans. There had also been a curious case by the name of Kai, no last name. “Formalities, if you’ll have them: my name is Kai, and I am writing to you from Uijeongbu St. Mary’s Hospital. I have tendon problems; you don’t need to know why.” That is what the first letter from the mysterious inker looks like. It’s honestly and most accurately the reason why he is headed, 45 miles an hour, toward a city he’s tried not to visit in six years, the amount of time he’s left it behind.

 

But there’s an explanation for it.

 

It’s not that Kyungsoo has read through all this strange guy’s post because he sympathizes with him (although it would be improper to say he is indifferent to individuals with physical disabilities). The thing is, nine out of ten times, Kyungsoo will not read fan letters – there’s simply too many. But he reads all of Kai’s because though the letters are mailed to him from the same hospital, they are sent to him to a different location. Not his P.O box; not the one his company provides him with; not the one he uses for electricity bills mailed to his apartment, but the one his parents use. His parents.

 

He has one too many questions, some along the lines of “Where did you get an address for people the public doesn’t even know exist in my life?” and “How did you know I had parents in the first place?”. Despite the dishonest rumor that had earned Kyungsoo much sympathy during the first years following debut (the first lie told to the public, that is), this “Kai” person had known the fact that his blood parents are living in his hometown. Sheltered and hidden by the company since age twelve, Kyungsoo cannot fathom how anyone in the general public with a name he has never heard of in his life had secretly known the fact of him being adopted at ten months is, and always had been, a fib.

 

What else does he know about him that Kyungsoo’s been hiding? How many of his lies does Kai know? These are the questions that lead him into the dragon’s lair.

 

Deep in thought, the star doesn’t turn his gaze away from outside the window as he replies, “I don’t.”

 

Jongdae laughs. “Then why are you volunteering to hold a fansign in one?”. It’s not a welcomed response to his answer; Jongdae is always one to ask too many questions. “You have every right to decline.” Old habit, it seems. He’d always been a bit nosy.

 

“Reasons. Don’t worry about it,” the celebrity answers. Unwinding the earphones around his Galaxy 5, Kyungsoo turns on the first song of his newest album, released a couple months back. When he hinges a bud into his ear to listen, an eye twitches, cringing on its own accord.

 

It’s something he’s tried to ignore for a while now, but his involuntary reactions give away the fact that no matter how grandly the crowd praises him, it’s not the same anymore. He’s lost a lot of reason in his life, one of them being his reason to sing. Everything he reveals on camera seems strategically forced; it’s probably the world’s most convoluted enigma why people haven’t noticed the plastic yet. Maybe he’s just a great actor – even manager hyung had once said he should have gone into acting. Something about his face being fit to be in a drama scene, but Kyungsoo thinks it’s more like he’s good at being someone he isn’t.

 

Of course he hadn’t always been like this, but time changes people and so do corrupted entertainment industries. That’s how life goes. Pity.

 

Staring blankly at the miniature rectangle plots of soil housing lettuce and tomato plants, a sight rarely seen in Seoul, Kyungsoo sighs. He hasn’t been to this side of Gyeonggi-do in forever; never really leaves Seoul for any other province for much longer than a day, after all. He rests his finger on the lever by the door handle to reel the window down, immediately relaxing when the familiar scents rush into his nose. There’s no nostalgia, not yet, but he thinks a couple years down the road, he may start to miss the silent midnight streets of Uijeongbu, the abundant dragonflies, cicadas, tiny stores that sell grape-flavored slush (and the sloped streets, weekends potentially spent hiking, potentially relaxing). Life is too hectic to be lingering in memories of the past, never quite allows Kyungsoo time to breathe and reflect. He hasn’t even visited his grandmother’s grave for a while now; maybe one of these days the company will let him.

 

“Get ready to smile, prince,” Jongdae says as he rounds the corner to enter the employee parking lot. Kyungsoo pulls the buds out of his ear and doesn’t bother to take out his sunglasses. This isn’t an airport; not that he enjoys wearing sunglasses in airports to begin with. It laughs maniacally in his head like this: Fun Fact (Lie) #1 – Kyungsoo treasures his collection of sunglasses. When his manager backs the van into a slot to park, Kyungsoo takes a deep breath and slides open the door. What sunglasses? Kyungsoo rebuts incredulously with a snort. He abandons his newest pair in the back seat, an accessory the ones in power dangle on him that he refuses to wear. He slams the door for good measure.

 

“Ready?” Jongdae asks as always.

 

“Kinda have to be all the time, don’t I?” the star replies. Kim Jongdae just subtly fears the sarcasm in his voice.

— ♦ — ♦ — ♦ —

 

The perks of being famous, it seems, is that everyone always greets him. Kyungsoo finds relief in the simple hello’s because it reminds him that he is still real; still living; still very much alive in the eyes of others. To him in the mirror, there is practically nothing. That is why when he sits down at the large white table and hands out autographs with a smile, he is at ease.

 

“Hi, what’s your name?”

 

“It’s Byun Baekhyun. I’m… a really big fan,” a patient in a long hospital gown says with an extremely lively smile. Although his face is sickly yellow and his eyes a little downcast, he glows with a light Kyungsoo is envious of.

 

“Hey Baekhyun. How are you doing?”

 

“I’m doing well! I’ve been taking my medication diligently and I’m coming along pretty fine,” he replies. Kyungsoo takes a photocard and flips it over, scrawling in his autograph with a message that reads: “To Baekhyun: You have a very bright smile. Never lose it”.

 

“I’m glad you’re taking care of yourself. Thanks for coming down today,” he replies as he hands it to the excited fan before him. Despite hating how superficial his occupation has become, Kyungsoo still appreciates the people who chant his name with faith; they believe in him more than he has ever believed in himself, and that’s a piece of treasure beyond replacement. Perhaps it’s a little selfish when he thinks about the fact that he’s lying to all of them and gaining trust for it, but it’s not a selfishness gone to waste. It’s a rotten excuse.

 

When Baekhyun leaves with a lingering goodbye, an elementary school student waddles up to the table with her two beady eyes peeking over the top. Blinking, she looks expectantly at him.

 

“Hi, what’s your name?” Kyungsoo asks, peering a little ways over so that he can see her rosy cheeks.

 

“My name is Hayoo from room 2-1, ChunAhng Elementary School,” she replies, eyes blinking again. “Are you really famous, ahjussi?”

 

It takes Kyungsoo by surprise, but he laughs as he reaches a hand across the table. “Aren’t you my fan? This is a fansign event, Hayoo.”

 

“Oh, I just came because Nurse Shim and Nurse Hwang said there was somebody famous. Hami wanted to see.”

 

And… of course there are people like this, too. The star’s eyes crinkle in amusement as he pats the girl’s head. “Who’s Hami?” he asks, quickly signing a photocard. Hayoo lifts up her hands from under the table and presents her hippopotamus doll, white as porcelain, much larger than her torso.

 

“Oh, so this is Hami?” Kyungsoo says.

 

Hayoo nods and her head disappears halfway through it. She is quite small even for a second grader, the solo artist observes. It occurs to him that perhaps he may have been on this side of the scale when he had been in second grade, too. Kyungsoo had always been a bit petite for his age. But after a few roundabouts in his head with no answer, he finds that he cannot recall much about that time in his life. A pinprick of sorrow jabs at his temples at the realization that his mind has come to dislike storing memories.

 

“Does your friend Hami want an autograph, too?” he asks the girl, regaining composure.

 

“No,” Hayoo replies as she shakes her head, “we can share. Hami and I always share.”

 

“Okay,” Kyungsoo chuckles, handing her the autographed photo. “Now you can brag to your friends that you met a famous person.”

 

Hayoo nods again, and when she waddles back to what seems like a wheelchair across the lobby, he keeps his eyes on her. A skinny nurse stationed behind the wheelchair beckons with her hands, two open palms, for the girl to slow down, and as soon as Kyungsoo is able to see Hayoo’s full body, he discovers a great metal brace clasping her tiny frame. It shocks him a little, pins a tiny note of sadness to his already-swelling heart. For the first time that day, something makes him pause.

 

“Hey, can we take a break?” Kyungsoo says to Jongdae, and once the announcement is made, the star goes to the front desk. He finds out where Hayoo is staying, asks the nurse a couple of questions, then visits the gift shop to buy the girl a basket full of everything she loves. Hayoo really loves tangerines, apparently, so Kyungsoo asks Jongdae to go to the market nearby and buy enough of them to line her room window. He wishes he could buy her the entire stock though, buy her so much more.

— ♦ — ♦ — ♦ —

 

Four hours into the event, there are only a few fans left. It’s one of the longest ones he’s ever hosted; by fact and by embedded memorization, he knows the hospital is probably the most prominent in Uijeongbu, but for it to be so filled had been beyond Kyungsoo’s imagination. “Are these really all patients?” he had asked Jongdae three-fourths of the way through. The sad answer had been yes. Jongdae just tells him that they’re lucky he packed enough photocards.

 

“Hi, what’s your name?” he asks to all of them: Kim Woomin, Go Jaehyun, Lee Bora, Soohye, Minyoung, onward. It’s an endless stream of people, broken in the most unexpected places with the most unexpected stories. “How are you doing?” becomes a common question to a great majority of them. And even if he knows it isn’t the greatest luxury to meet someone of connection in a clinic, he thinks this: He’s at the biggest hospital in Uijeongbu, yet he hasn’t met someone he’s known in his childhood. Truthfully, Kyungsoo doesn’t know if that’s relieving or saddening.

 

“Hi, what’s your name?”

 

At the very moment Kyungsoo has given up this ambivalent thought, it comes tumbling at him. He is looking under the table for a few leftover photocards as he says to the pair of feet before him. “Sorry, just give me a sec…” Slivers of legs placed atop a footrest of a wheelchair catch his eye through the space between the table cover and the sterilized floor.

 

“It’s Kim Jongin.”

 

Kyungsoo bumps his head on the table as he lifts himself upright. It’s a familiar name he’s had a hard time forgetting since the last time he’s heard it, so the minuscule hints of a frown can’t help but draw itself over Kyungsoo’s forehead at the sudden mention. When he sits up properly in his chair again and looks directly ahead of him to see who the voice belongs to, he freezes.

 

“… Or I guess you can say Kai.”

 

A metal hand slams a fist through his lungs and breathes metallic, cold air into it. His reason is here. His reason for coming back to Uijeongbu and for running away from it six years ago, all in one body.

 

“… Hi, hyung.”

— ♦ — ♦ — ♦ —

 

“I’m debuting in a few weeks. I know you don’t want to talk to me and all but I wish you’d be there when I stand on stage for the first time.”

“They’re giving me three free tickets, front row for my family members. But I want you to come; my parents won’t be able to make it anyway. I’ll leave your ticket with your uncle at the convenience store. Oh, and about that, you don’t have to worry about me freeloading soda from him anymore. I’m… moving to Seoul soon.”

“I miss you. And I’m sorry I messed things up. But don’t stay angry at someone like me, alright? I’m not worth your time. I never deserved to have a friend like you, and you never deserved to meet something like me. I wasn’t meant to make friends… I guess this is why. I just want you to know that I’m sorry and that I always will be.”

“I’ll be waiting. I promise December 23^rd is the last time you’ll have to see me. I just want to apologize to you before I leave.”

 

And then, without a word, Kim Jongin steps out of his life.

 

“Hey… where are you? I’m waiting by the back gate.”

 

Quietly, he drifts away.

— ♦ — ♦ — ♦ —

 

The way Kyungsoo remembers it, the way everyone remembers it, is that Kim Jongin disappeared.

 

“So...”

 

Asia’s top star plays with the can of Chilsung Soda in his hand as Jongin wheels himself to the window. Sitting on the windowsill, he turns his gaze to the dress shoes dragging lightly against the tiles on the cold floor then stares through the window. The world outside is in monochrome: gray clouds against a white backdrop. Most days are monochrome to Kyungsoo no matter how many colors paint the sky, though; he finds that this is an easier way to face the background Earth creates for him. Neutrality has become a rule in his life since an age he cannot remember.

 

“It’s been a while,” Jongin says, popping open a bottle of Fiji water. He takes a small sip, one that is taken solely for the purpose of chasing away bits of drifting awkwardness. “How have you been?”

 

“What’re you doing here?” Kyungsoo asks instead of answering. His cold drink warms under his fingers, and although there is nothing he hates more than food and beverages shied away from their normal temperatures, he holds on tight. His throat is rejecting anything he wants to stuff in it, vulnerable to stress.

 

“I’m receiving physical therapy. Hips and tendons are acting up again,” Jongin replies, “it’s just like my letters said.” His eyes are trained on the view outside, intent on staying there for an ambiguous reason. It’s a little strange how it had used to be the opposite just six years ago. Kyungsoo had been the only thing Jongin could ever look at. The hospital patient caps his water again. “The letters from ‘Kai’, I mean.”

 

“What do you mean they’re acting up again?” the star says, eyebrows curving inward.

 

“It’s nothing; forget me. How about we talk about you instead?” Glancing up at Kyungsoo for the first time since they’ve left the fansign event table, Jongin hops the tangent. His friend hasn’t changed a bit since the last time he’s seen him, Kyungsoo observes. Jongin has always had the same face; they’d even used to joke that he is recognizable in any random timeframe of his life. Many years ago, that is.

 

“… What’s there to talk about?”

 

“Oh, I don’t know, about how you’re apparently some musical prodigy who’s the next Henry or Zhang Yixing or something - I mean, the last time I checked, you were receiving four hour piano lessons a day from Heesoo noona. Or maybe we can talk about how you’re supposedly adopted?” Jongin swerves in his wheelchair. “And what’s with the saying that you were born and raised in Seoul?”

 

This is Kim Jongin: friend of Kyungsoo since age fourteen, fellow trainee from Uijeongbu, the only one he has had the privilege of losing. He’d also been Kyungsoo’s part-time shoulder to cry on and full-time first love in previous years. Pretty significant, put whichever way.

 

“What are you trying to say?” Kyungsoo asks, stiffening.

 

“What happened, that’s what I want to know,” the younger replies, and it irks Kyungsoo so much that it makes the veins on his forehead pulse hotly.

 

“You want to know what happened,” he repeats incredulously, fire in his eyes rekindling, “Now you want to know what happened? I don’t get it. Why do you care? For six years you go missing without an explanation, and now you want to know the fillers?”

 

Jongin stares back up at him.

 

“You’ve got some nerve,” Kyungsoo says, tongue thick and heavy in his mouth. “You’re always so unfair, did you know that? You got to see me every day since December that year – I was on television for you to watch, even by coincidence; on the Internet whenever you wanted to hear my voice. But me? I couldn’t, Jongin.” Kyungsoo tries hard to control his breathing. “I couldn’t see or hear any part of you until today. But after all this time you decide to approach me again in the form of a flimsy stack of letters,” he says with a huff, reaching into his pocket to draw out a few and hold them in the air for Jongin to see, “not even with your name but with some pen name, Kai.” He throws them on the floor in disgust. “So what makes you think you can come to me now and argue with me about my identity, Jongin? How is it fair of you to ask me for answers when you’re hiding yourself?”

 

“I’m not blaming you,” the younger replies when Kyungsoo ends his tirade. “It was a bad move, I know. But how else did you expect me to reach you? It’s hard to contact someone famous when you’re not famous yourself if you didn’t know,” he explains, equally bothered. “What makes you think any part of this is what I wanted? I’m having this conversation with you right now because I know you’re not living all your lies on purpose. My question isn’t about your reasons for ending up this way, hyung. It’s why you’re not fighting against it. You’re strong, remember?”

 

“I’m not,” Kyungsoo replies on the next beat. He places his can of soda by the edge of the windowsill, metal curves hanging dangerously close to the open drop. He’s not really supposed to drink anything that fizzes in a pool of sugar, but no one who cares is watching. This isn’t the right brand of soda anyway. The round bottom of the cheap beverage inches closer over the ledge he is sitting on. “You know that better than anyone else.”

 

“I don’t know, actually,” Jongin says, and it makes Kyungsoo’s fingers pause on the rim of the soda can. “Yeah, in fact, I don’t. The Do Kyungsoo from Uijeongbu, maybe, but the one in Seoul? Nope, I don’t know him. I don’t know a Kyungsoo who doesn’t look elated when he sings. I don’t know one who doesn’t mean the lyrics he belts out either. And you know what? I don’t know a Kyungsoo who’s first love was someone named Dahyun. Strong Heart episode one, October 6^th of 2009,” he says, frowning; betrayed. “That’s not you. You’re right – I did get to watch your activities, all of them starting right at debut. And I did. But what did I get from that? A crap ton of lies, that’s what. Every single thing that’s been coming out of your mouth since December 2008 is a lie, hyung. How do you expect me to know you ‘better than anyone else’ if the Kyungsoo I know isn’t allowed to show himself anymore?”

 

By this point, Kyungsoo is trying not to clench his fists.

 

“It’s ridiculous, the they make you say. That Kim Dahyun girl – ‘I used to sing to her’, you said – but tell me: What color is her hair? What’s her favorite food? Where does she live? You don’t know, right? Because she doesn’t exist,” Jongin continues. “From what I know, Do Kyungsoo didn’t talk to anybody in town except for me. Unless you didn’t grow up in Uijeongbu, which obviously you didn’t, right?” Kyungsoo quivers on every end with irritation and anger. “You don’t have any friends in Seoul – who are you kidding? Did the company think faking your past would be that easy? I don’t know how you think I remember you, but I don’t know the Do Kyungsoo your company created. He’s anything but the role model I used to know, so you’re wrong. I don’t know you better than any of your fans do.”

 

Sometimes, Do Kyungsoo is glad he doesn’t have friends. It’s been a long time since he’s been taught to shy away from others and avoid leaving people with information that can bite him in the later on. Auditioning at the age of eleven and then being casted by twelve had been a company experiment – they’d taken Kyungsoo in and then made him into a Rapunzel for a reason: so that he wouldn’t be given a chance to create a history that can cause controversy in the coming years. Too many stars have spiraled downward because of their past: underage drinking photos, leaks of videos taken with rowdy friends. SM Entertainment wished to prevent the dangerous events from happening before they had a chance to bud, and pre-debut Kyungsoo is consequently the cleanest in all of the industry.

 

But of course, like a mutant virus, there is Jongin who crashes in at every possible second-from-closing gate. He’s always been a reckless last-minute, far-from-expected plot twist in Kyungsoo’s life. One that Kyungsoo does not know how to predict even if Jongin were to tell him the exact date and time he will come smashing in. The star had liked that about Jongin many years ago, had felt that it constantly kept him on his toes. Fulfilled expectations that had fallen to a pitiful low, that is. He doesn’t know about now.

 

“… If you looked up to me that much,” he starts, speaking before his throat shuts down on him, “if I was your role model and if my life right now makes you so mad like this,” breathing slowly he asks, “then why’d you leave?”

 

It’s a nick to his pride, but five full albums, seven mini ones, and twenty eight music videos later, Kyungsoo still winces at the bruises marking his soul. Giving but a couple fluttering blinks of the eye, Jongin stays quiet. It’s not that he expects an answer (Kyungsoo never expects answers to be given to him after all) but when the younger doesn’t reply, his chest loads a couple more bricks onto his shoulder.

 

“There’s a few things you need to know about me,” he says quietly when Jongin looks away. “Third year into debut, I delayed a concert while it was in session. I was singing a song about love, about you, and I couldn’t stop hearing my own heart exploding in my chest so I inserted an extra intermission right after the performance ended.”

 

All Jongin does is look down on the floor like the day Kyungsoo had spontaneously confessed.

 

“Fourth year, in Japan, I had to stay in a hospital for a whole week because I’d broken down due to stress. And throughout that time,” Kyungsoo says with a trembling voice, “every day of that week, the only person I could think about was you. Why?” the star chuckles, sound sad and swollen in his throat and painting the air a dirty brown. “Because I wanted you to be by my side, Jongin. I missed you.”

“And just last year, I let myself have a break. I stopped trying to answer questions I knew I would never get to ask you; I tried to stop thinking about you all the time. I let you go like that, Jongin, with so many scars inside.” Shakily shutting his eyes to calm himself, he turns away with a throbbing head before Jongin can stop him. Keeping himself in check had always been an issue when facing things closest to his heart. His best and only friend had always been an inch away, more or less. He’s a good actor, skilled at keeping composed when angered, he’s heard. Kyungsoo has heard a lot about himself from others, but he’s learned the most from Jongin. Maybe that’s why it hurts a little more right now as he tries to gather his broken pieces together. The younger makes him want things that he can’t have, and that’s why he’s so dangerous.

 

He slackens his jaw and sighs.

 

“So Jongin, don’t try to come back now and mess me up again because I’m tired of having to hate my own memories.”

 

The other end of the hallway greets him as he walks toward it.

 

But it’s a wonder. It’s strange how with just a few words, Jongin has the ability to rewind a whole chunk of Kyungsoo’s life film that he’s out and then set it back again where his heart had used to beat loudly. It’s strange how one sound – the sound of his soda can hitting the floor as Jongin brushes past it – makes his knees lock in place and keeps him still.

 

“… What makes you think I wanted to leave?”

 

And it’s just one question, but Kyungsoo feels emotions he’s tried to hide since the last time he’s been asked a genuine question by someone who cares. He feels pain.

— ♦ — ♦ — ♦ —

 

“So, tell me. Why does singing make you happy?”

 

The recipient of this question looks up at the stars dotting the sky from his friend’s roof, ruminating. Jongin shuffles in his spot next to him, rubbing at his bare arms chilling slowly in the summer evening. On an unparticular mosquito-free night of 2008, Kim Jongin touches the smallest portion of Kyungsoo’s heart.

 

“It doesn’t.”

 

The younger stares at him.

 

“Then why do you sing?”

 

For a while, the trainee doesn’t answer. As he lets the glints of the lights above sink a little into his eyes, he breathes – inhale, exhale, absorbing. And then:

 

“It makes me feel alive,” he answers, closing his eyes. “Like something in this world matters.”

 

“Doesn’t everything matter?” Jongin asks. ”Everything you care about, I mean.”

 

“No, not really,” Kyungsoo says. “Not everything. There’s a trick to it. When you close your eyes and think about the thing you love with all your heart, think about it real, real hard, you have to notice what you feel. And if it somehow makes you want to live just so you can continue doing it, you know it truly matters.”

 

“But if you love it, then it should feel like it’s something that matters.”

 

“I’m telling you, it’s not the same,” Kyungsoo answers. “If you simply love it, you’d be okay with dying for its purpose. But if it makes you feel alive,” he says, “you want to stay in this world and protect it. That’s the difference.”

 

Jongin turns his head toward the trainee, confused.

 

“Remember when you used to ask me what I think about when I sing?” Kyungsoo asks, cupping his head under his palm. “I’ve never really told anyone, but I don’t think about anything. Not a single thought in my head. All I perceive is just this feeling that the world has stopped for me at that moment, like time is stopping just long enough so I can feel like I’m in the right place at the right time. And that’s why I want to protect my passion, you know. It’s my life goal: to have lived a life worth living. Big bold letters. And my answer to that is feeling like I’m where I’m supposed to be.”

 

Jongin lets that seep in, feeling the words roll around in his head and find their own place.

 

“… And what if I told you I felt the same?”

 

“About dancing?” Kyungsoo asks, but Jongin shakes his head. He turns his head and watches the way his friend looks at him, starlight reflecting off his every surface and illuminating him instead.

 

“About you.”

 

Kyungsoo freezes, heart pounding. The dancer looks back up at the night sky again and takes a deep breath.

 

“If I want to protect you, our friendship, and it makes my heart pound when I think about it, it means that you truly matter to me, doesn’t it? It means I love you,” he says, but adds,” in a friend kind of way.”

 

“… Yeah,” Kyungsoo says, and in that moment, he notices the way his heart quickens in rhythm, the way Jongin fills his day and his nights and even his thoughts, how he has never imagined a moment without his friend since the day they met.

 

“That’s pretty interesting,” Jongin says, and then they both fall silent for the night. The next day, it’s as if nothing had ever been said between them.

— ♦ — ♦ — ♦ —

 

The car ride back home is filled with Kyungsoo biting his lip. It’s not a habit he’s indulged himself into in a long time; comes up only when he’s nervous, after all. On the first stage of his celebrity career, he’d bitten his lips so hard that he’d drawn more than a couple drops of blood. The coordinators had scolded him, of course, but it’d become a sort of innocent mask. The audience had liked the fact that he had been so jittery on his first performance, had loved the honest fear in his eyes. And the determination to overcome it, they would later say. Kyungsoo had always been known for his steel heart. That’s how the public thinks he was bred.

 

“Should have known better than to come to a big hospital,” Jongdae says as he glances in the mirror. “You look tired, Kyungsoo.”

 

“Yeah,” the star replies as he closes his eyes and leans his head against the leather seat. Iron tints his inner lip red, settling almost like dew. “I am.”

 

Manager Kim faces the road again. “At least there weren’t aggressive fans today. Or any sasaengs. I’m surprised they didn’t try to pull something today. Maybe Uijeongbu’s people are a lot calmer.” His stomach grumbles quietly, an indicator that Kyungsoo is keeping his silence yet again. The only movement he is carrying out at the moment is his bottom lip. “I guess you got lucky today.” Blinking at the lack of response, Jongdae tries a classic, “Well, I’m getting pretty hungry so I’m gonna get something to eat at that little corner store. Want anything?”

 

“No.”

 

“You sure? You haven’t had anything to eat or drink all day.”

 

“I’m good, really.”

 

With a shrug, the top star’s manager pulls into the curb of a family-owned convenience store smaller than Kyungsoo’s room.

 

“You don’t even want some Fanta Shaker? Your favorite, you know.”

 

“No, hyung. I seriously don’t want anything. Just go.”

 

The manager sighs at the uncooperative celebrity as he unbuckles his seat belt, dropping heavily on the interlocking brick sidewalk. Kyungsoo twitches in his seat with annoyance when he doesn’t even bother to turn off the ignition or take his keys or even close the door. It’s not that he’s nervous, but the way the cold breeze crawls ominously into the van disturbs him.

 

Fiddling with the buds of his earphones around his phone, Kyungsoo tries not to think. There’s something scary his mind does when he’s troubled: He starts to look back into his head – opens up memories, that is. With a frown, he unravels the white wires and turns on music to fill up the inching closure his brain is attempting, rejecting the steps inward. Submerging into lethargy, he listens without really listening, letting the music drift in one way, waft out the other.

 

Roughly four seconds before the first song is over, the car lurches with added weight. Kyungsoo takes slow, deep breaths to shut down his system, to fall asleep in escape. His manager is back already with his fix of food, so in another twenty minutes or so, he will be able to truly slumber. This thought sedates him until his heart is beating at a steady beat, and Kyungsoo lets himself drift one breath at a time.

 

“Oppa, where should I take you?”

 

The voice of a young girl makes the star jolt awake.

 

“Should I take you home?”

 

“Who are you?” Kyungsoo asks in alarm, eyes snapping open as a hand automatically goes to the arm of his seat for security. “Jongdae hyung – where,” he sputters, shocked.

 

“I’m Yurin,” the girl says, switching gears then slamming on the accelerator without warning, steering the wheel madly. Kyungsoo lurches at the creeping motion sickness, eyebrows furrowed in trauma. “I’d like for you to remember me, oppa. I’m a big fan.”

 

“Yurin? Yurin, okay,” Kyungsoo chokes, eyes blurring. “What are you doing? Please stop the car. Please.”

 

“Why? I’ll take you home, oppa.”

 

“Where’s Jongdae?”

 

“In the store, remember? He left this car here for me; what a kind man.” All Kyungsoo can register of the situation through his overbearing fear is the white and purple of the girl’s school uniform.

 

“Yurin, please stop. You look like you don’t even have your license yet. This is dangerous.”

 

“But I want to stay with you, oppa. That’s dangerous, but I like it. I like dangerous.”

 

Panic rises in Kyungsoo’s chest and cuts his breath into short wisps. “We can stop this car and sit down at a bench and talk calmly. Please, Yurin, we can talk.”

 

“But that’s only for a short while,” the student replies as she presses harder, building speed. The streets are empty save for a few trucks, but Kyungsoo cannot push down the feeling that the girl’s recklessness might just be risky for his health. His head jerks at the break of momentum, thrashing. “I want to be with you forever, oppa.”

 

“No you don’t,” Kyungsoo yells. “You don’t, so please stop!”

 

“I’ve been planning this for a long time,” Yurin says, voice slightly rising in volume so that she can be heard over the revving engine. “I even wrote a letter to my parents at home. It’s on my desk.”

 

“Yurin, what are you thinking of doing right now?!” Kyungsoo asks in trembling trepidation. His heart is erratically beating in every portion of his body except for his head, where everything is racing at a million miles per minute, a million miles faster than this car is racing at now. Jongin – where is Jongin?

 

“We’re gonna die together, oppa!” Yurin screams almost maniacally. The sidewalk outside blurs behind them and Kyungsoo feels bile in his mouth. “We’ll be together that way!”

 

Before the paralyzed star can even stop her, the girl jerks her arms rapidly to the right, steering the van wildly into a drop. His arm bangs helplessly into the side of the vehicle and as the wind repeatedly gets knocked out of his lungs, Kyungsoo suffocates. The tumbling black van’s window shatters loudly in the celebrity’s ears, and, defying gravity, his body shifts in the air freely at the absence of a seatbelt he had never taken the caution to buckle. The last thing he sees before blacking out is the jumbled colors of the spinning world.

 

The last thing he feels is his leg crushing under the weight of the smoking car.

— ♦ — ♦ — ♦ —

 

“Don’t talk to anyone,” he’d always been told. Fun Lie #2 – Kyungsoo was street-casted. It’s straight-out bull: In reality, the company had found him three hours late to an audition at the weekly SM Entertainment event, eleven years young, wandering the busy streets of Seoul alone in search of a blooming dream his parents hadn’t given support to. He’d tumbled into the building shaking in fear at his unfortunate confusion of bus stops from Uijeongbu to such a bustling area. “No more friends” had been the first rule upon being casted. Overjoyed with his successful audition despite the horrid conditions, Kyungsoo didn’t have a problem with it.

 

The schedule had been the same for almost two years: wake up, go to the designated studio the company eventually assigns him, get lessons from whoever teacher is stationed there, eat according to a strict diet, then practice. From seven in the morning until eight at night, Kyungsoo had trapped himself behind the doors of the building he’d learned to make a home in, sometimes voluntarily. The “pay” had been good, a monthly check sent to the Do’s household in compensation for cheating Kyungsoo of a proper childhood. The aspiring star had known no other life in the first place, had never been given a chance to escape if he’d wanted. But he’d loved singing so much that nothing else had mattered.

 

Now, as Kyungsoo is being wheeled into an ambulance, he finds himself in this place.

 

“You can’t hang around here,” a pubescent voice says as he uses the towel around his neck to wipe the beads of sweat dotting his forehead. A boy in ivory shorts and a white shirt, slippers hanging by his hands as he sits atop a brick ledge smiles at him. He’s a frequent loiterer, always in the same spot with a can of orange-flavored Fanta Shaker in hand when the trainee shoos him away. He must have nothing better to do, Kyungsoo thinks all the time. It’s no wonder he’s so tan; he sits out there the whole day.

 

“Why not?” the boy asks, which is a break from routine since he always leaves without a fight. Frowning, Kyungsoo turns away. “Isn’t this where you do celebrity stuff? I wanna be a star like you do. I dance.”

 

It’s around three thirty in the afternoon when Kyungsoo comes across someone who has the same dream as him for the first time in his life. It’s a bit of an odd time to be overwhelmed, but he faces the strange boy again. “How’d you know I wanted to be a star?”

 

“I mean,” he says, jumping down smoothly, “you come out every afternoon with sweat all over, never going to school, and I kind of figured you’re not doing physical labor or something in there, so I assumed you were dancing.” Then, he adds, “And also, your grandma told me.”

 

“My grandma,” Kyungsoo repeats. The boy nods.

 

“Well, not directly. She mutters under her breath about all kinds of things. You’re her favorite topic.” Kyungsoo watches uncomfortably as the boy leans his head back to out the remaining drops of soda before continuing, “She comes outside to feed that dog sometimes, right? The one with the white spots on her ear. I feed her sometimes, too. My dad is the butcher across your house.”

 

Kyungsoo stares in mild disbelief. “Okay, so you know a couple of things. Alright. Good for you. But look, I don’t know what you’re doing here all the time. I really can’t be talking to you right now to be honest. I’m not supposed to make friends and stuff.”

 

“Whoa, who said I wanted to be your friend?” the boy laughs. “I just want to practice with you, that’s all. I’m pretty good. I started dancing when I was little, around five, so you can bet on me. I was diagnosed with this thing called juvenile rheumatoid arthritis you see, so I took up dancing as my form of exercise.”

 

Kyungsoo stares back in confusion.

 

“It’s called JRA for short. It means I have to stay active,” the boy explains like he has had to simplify the term for countless other people, already embedding into his speech. “And no, it’s not contagious, so stop looking at me like I’m a freak. Can I dance with you or what?”

 

Fourteen year-old Kyungsoo contemplates for a while, but before he can even answer, the boy walks over, hands him a grape-flavored version of his drink, then races in.

 

“My name is Jongin!” he shouts, voice echoing down the hall. Kyungsoo gapes at his fleeing back. “And I lied! We’re gonna be great buddies!”

 

Before the trainee even has time to register the fact that somebody has just breached into a studio meant to be kept secret, Jongin memorizes everything with his eyes.

 

And so hot summer day of age fourteen, Kim Jongin literally enters his life.

— ♦ — ♦ — ♦ —

 

He awakes in a hospital.

 

The world is blurry and bright and loud and disturbingly quiet all at the same time, makes a small bullet ricochet and bounce off the inside of his head again and again. His body feels heavier than usual, and it twitches in pain and raised temperature when he starts to register his surroundings.

 

Taking a staggered breath from his dry throat, Kyungsoo gasps as he tries to sit up. A stray tear rolls down his face at the pain, escapes without him knowing. With a groan, he releases all strength from his limbs in defeat and presses down into the sheets, weak. His head throbs.

 

“Kyungsoo,” somebody says. The star flinches at his name, heartbeat quickening just the slightest. He hears the beeping of a monitor by his bed to indicate this raise. Lethargically, he feels a cast confining an arm.

 

“Kyungsoo.”

 

“Kyungsoo.”

 

He slips out of consciousness again.

— ♦ — ♦ — ♦ —

 

“Kyungsoo.”

 

This time, when he hears his name, he is lying on the floor of his old training room.

 

“C’mon, get up. We haven’t even gotten to the hard part yet.”

 

It’s like he’s playing a video on TV, a tape labeled Life, Age 16. He watches it as a spectator detached from his body, a frail soul drifting.

 

“Leave me alone, I’m beat, Jongin.”

 

But the soldier doesn’t give up. “You lasting two more hours says I’ll buy you a month’s supply of Fanta Shaker. One hour says you buy me a month’s supply.”

 

“How does that even make sense?” Kyungsoo groans, rolling on his side. “Never mind, you never make sense anyway.”

 

“Dude, seriously get up.”

 

“That’s hyung to you.”

 

“Okay, hyung, get up.”

 

“You don’t even belong here anyway, Jongin. They gave you your own practice room, remember?”

 

“Yeah, but when they caught me here, they said I could stay as your dance teacher. I haven’t signed a contract yet, smartass. I’m your legal mentor.”

 

“Shut up, and it was ‘dance teacher, nothing more, nothing less’, for your information. You are here on duty as a friend,” Kyungsoo laughs, kicking at the boy’s legs from his position on the floor. Jongin swiftly dodges the movements, but accidentally drops his glasses in the process.

 

“,” he says as he swoops down to catch it. Their teachers tell them repeatedly to drop the profanity, but Jongin snorts and gives them a new list to ban instead all the time. Smiling deviously at the troublemaker himself, Kyungsoo grabs his arm at the chance and brings the dancer down next to him on the floor. The black frames fall safely on his stomach and the trainee is quick to grab it as his friend fumbles by his side.

 

“Good. Now stay down here with me and breathe for a while, okay?”

 

“Alright, but just give me back my glasses,” Jongin mumbles, borderline whining. Kyungsoo shakes his head with a chuckle as he taps at Jongin’s forehead playfully.

 

“Are you really that blind without them?”

 

“I’m telling you, my JRA messed up my vision a lot,” Jongin answers. Kyungsoo stares directly into his eyes and thinks they’re perfect. The way they look, he means.

 

“So you won’t know if someone is staring at you?”

 

“I don’t know, maybe. It depends, I think.”

 

“On what?”

 

“Distance…? I’m farsighted.”

 

Kyungsoo feels a smile creeping as he keeps his eyes trained on Jongin’s face.

 

“You look nice without them though. Can’t you get contacts?”

 

“I don’t really know if I want to go around sticking things in my eye like that,” Jongin says, and Kyungsoo laughs. He continues to gaze.

 

“I’m getting this weird feeling that you’re staring at me or something. You’re staring, huh?”

 

“Maybe,” Kyungsoo answers.

 

“That’s it, you’re an . Give me back my glasses!” Jongin pounces on him, and Kyungsoo laughs as his fingers tickle at his sides.

 

“Alright, alright!”

 

Bracing Jongin above him with a hand, Kyungsoo slots the frames back safely on the bridge of his friend’s nose, smiling when the younger blinks to get his focus right again. When he does, they stay that way and Jongin stares back into his eyes with a hint of frolic.

 

It’s moments like these when Kyungsoo thinks somehow, the love songs he is taught to sing make his heart beat half a pace faster because Jongin has found a way to steal his breath away. When the idiot finally climbs off and sits adjacent, Kyungsoo nudges him.

 

“Wanna go take a break? Drink’s on me.”

 

“Drink’s on my uncle, you mean,” Jongin smirks, nudging back. Kyungsoo sways with laughter. “I’m gonna tell him to make you pay this time. You’ve freeloaded way too much, you leech.”

 

“But that means we’re going, right?” Kyungsoo asks.

 

“Yes, we’re taking a stupid break from dancing, dammit,” Jongin replies. “What a lazyass.”

 

“Hey! It’s hard to keep up, okay? I have trouble with learning choreo unlike somebody who’s been doing it since they shot out of their diapers,” Kyungsoo defends. “We’ll do vocals when we come back, and we’ll see who the lazyass is then!”

 

Jongin scowls at him, but the trainee laughs and stands up. When the younger takes the hand he reaches out to hoist him up with, Kyungsoo can’t find a reason why the company had created a place for him with no one else to talk to. He doesn’t know what his social life had been before age eleven, but if every friend is like Jongin, he doesn’t understand why he can’t have more of them.

 

Maybe there just aren’t any like him out there, he thinks. In a way, he is right. So many things about Jongin, he can’t replace.

 

But it occurs to him now, in his ankle deep river of death, that things couldn’t have happened another way. From the start, Jongin had no choice but to be something grand in his life. Kyungsoo had never had another friend or love to compare him to, after all.

 

So it’s not exactly fate if reasoned well enough. Perhaps, though, it’s more like a perfectly landed shooting star.

— ♦ — ♦ — ♦ —

 

Focus comes to him with sluggish celerity. It’s a snap of the moment, but it fogs in his brain, warbling and mumbling and screaming all the same.

 

The first person who greets him is his mother. She frets over him like she is extremely worried for his health, tears staining her caked face as she clings onto his second visitor, his father. It makes his head spin madly, and he wants both his parents to leave even if this is the first time he’s seeing them since New Year’s last year. Their crying is insignificant, however cold it sounds.

 

Jongdae comes in next with his head bowed, eyes drooping in self-punishment and shame clouding his visage dark. “I’m so sorry, Kyungsoo,” he repeats without end, and the star feels his leg throb painfully like it is swollen three times its normal size. His eyes are glued to the ceiling, bed slanting at a forty-five degree angle at his hip to raise his lower half in the air. Jongdae leaves with a trail of guilty tears that Kyungsoo says he doesn’t have to shed but does anyway. The news is that the girl driving, Yurin, had passed away on the site with a dosage of pills to explain her actions. It fails to register in Kyungsoo’s swimming head.

 

The first time he sees Jongin after the accident is the day after, when he has knocked out a grand total of seven times in twenty hours but is finally able to stay awake long enough to speak a decent amount of words.

 

“Hey,” Jongin says, and Kyungsoo glances at the direction of the voice to see him settled in a wheelchair by his bed like he’s been there for a long time. “Didn’t know you’d come back to see me again.”

 

Muscles scraping painfully at the sides of his neck, Kyungsoo tries to speak. But when the words tremble without result for a while, he just lies there with a stream of quiet tears and turns his head away.

 

“That… was a joke, I’m sorry,” Jongin says with a sigh, wheeling just an inch closer. For some reason, that minuscule distance presses a warm thumb to Kyungsoo’s heart, directly at a spot where Jongin had last left it. And thus, their tape resumes. “How are you doing?”

 

“What are you doing here?” Kyungsoo asks with a scratchy voice, avoiding the question.

 

“… I… You still had me listed under your emergency contacts.”

 

Kyungsoo closes his eyes.

 

Before Jongin can ask about his condition again, a doctor enters: a tall man wearing spectacles with a clipboard in hand, white coat brushing by his knees. “Mr. Do?”

 

It’s a memory Kyungsoo later cannot remember, but the feeling of it comes back to him once in a while: the words that follow the greeting shoving past his ears, ripping a barbed wire through all his arteries to make Kyungsoo bleed inside out.

 

Inside out, inside out.

 

“We had to amputate – something, something, something.”

 

Things like that. Amputations, typical. Inside out.

 

“Your leg, severe injury, couldn’t save – something, something, something - limb.”

 

Words, knives,

 

Cut,

 

Words.

 

Inside out.

 

Knives?

 

A hand comes to grip his own, curling around the heart rate monitor clamped over his index finger. Kyungsoo’s eyebrows furrow as he tries to keep his strangled noises in when Jongin attempts to get his head to turn toward him. The doctor leaves silently, and he takes more than just a limb from Kyungsoo when he does. The damage is done severely, irreversibly, toxic in his veins.

 

“Kyungsoo,” Jongin hushes, whispering gently to the star who has dimmed so darkly the night sky confuses it with a black hole. “Kyungsoo, it’s all right, look at me – ”

 

Tears well up in his eyes as the world comes crashing down in a series of violent avalanches, vacuuming every bad thing in the universe and storing it in Kyungsoo’s jar of luck.

 

“Look at me,” Jongin says again, but the bedridden celebrity shudders and shakes and keeps his head ossified in the direction away from him. Grunting as he wheels his stiff bones around the foot-end of the bed, Jongin finds Kyungsoo on the other side. “Dammit, hyung, you make life so hard for me.”

 

The eyes that finally look back at him shatter Jongin’s every breath. Kyungsoo, who’d held in every fighting droplet the day he’d finally won his first music show award; who’d kept in the tumbling aches every end of an Asia tour, a world tour; who’d never showed so much as a sign of weakness on television, weeps silently in front of another human being for the first time in his life.

 

“Why are you here?” the mangled celebrity manages to ask, voice vibrating, eyes dropping to white sheets now stained with his tears. But no matter how he says it, no matter how much fight he tries to put into his words, he can’t trick Jongin. The younger feels himself relax when he sees the transparent wave of relief washing over the star at the familiar person in the safe room with him, body releasing all tension built in his muscles and every nervous droplet ebbing out of his system; they fall without parachutes from his eyes.

 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Jongin holds on tight and asks. He’s so stupid, stupid. “How could I be anywhere else right now, hyung? You’ve got to stop hiding, you know. Stop hiding yourself and stop hiding from me.”

 

Kyungsoo wants to curl inward into a shell, feeling so incredibly small compared to the obstacles hurled toward him. But instead, he carefully winces his way through dragging the blanket off of his body with his free hand and shifts in bed with tears still dropping down the slopes of his chin.

 

He finally realizes why his lower half had been elevated.

 

Where his right leg should be, a bandage is wrapped protectively around a stump that surely must not be his own. Eyes fluttering at the rushing attempts at failed acceptance, Kyungsoo tries to find the right words he should say, tries to search for any words that he can conjure in his brain at all. But all that comes to him is an emptiness that spreads a thick veil of silence over the room.

 

“… Kyungsoo…” Jongin starts, but the star knows there is nothing that can be said about this, about him losing a part of himself he had never known he would lose. The cast feels heavy on his right arm.

 

“… You were worried?” Kyungsoo asks, the first words that piece themselves together in his mouth. The tears stream continuously throughout in messy blurs; stars falling, shooting, crashing from the sky. Supernova un-spectacular. “About me – the accident. I just want to make sure.” His chest heaves with short breaths, leaving lungs unevenly, abruptly, somehow emptying water. “About the reason why you’re here.”

 

Jongin raises himself from his wheelchair with much effort to hug him gently as an answer. The pain of his joints is muffled in Kyungsoo’s nape.

 

“Of course I was,” Jongin says with vision blurring helplessly. “How could you even doubt that?”

 

And with those words, words yet again, Kyungsoo falls breathlessly into Jongin’s embrace. After six winded years, a lifetime in the palm of his hands, he is able to breathe again.

— ♦ — ♦ — ♦ —

 

One by one, people and happenings alike fall out of his life.

 

Jongdae sends in a resignation letter with nice meals to eat every day from his favorite take out restaurant as a compensation. There are about seventy missed calls from the solo artist in his phone by the time Jongin finishes the tenth lunch box Kyungsoo is unable to swallow, and all Kyungsoo hears of him is the same timed arrivals of food by his door that he cannot even eat.

 

Voicemails are useless when the receiver doesn’t want to listen to the forgiveness to unsaid apologies. Kyungsoo had never rendered his manager this much of a coward, but he doesn’t blame him for a single thing. He cannot hate someone who has been by his side since debut, though he is a presence he hadn’t appreciated until recently.

 

His new manager is someone by the name of Kim Junmyeon, inexperienced and nervous. He visits every few days and checks up on him like his parents do, awkward in his unskilled jabs at conversation. The blond man is very kind and careful, which the star approves of, but for the first time, he misses Jongdae’s nosiness and meaningless chatter. This new Kim Junmyeon hyung makes him deflate for some reason, and it’s not something that can be helped.

 

By the time Jongin has mastered how to clean his rotund wound and properly bandage his sensitive stump again, Kyungsoo has been informed about the cancellation of a guest appearance at an awards ceremony; a reality show starring a labelmate, Ryeowook; a radio; a fanmeet in Busan; eventually, an album. Maybe it is the bad news that floats out of Junmyeon’s mouth every time he comes that makes him feel dejected. It’s not fair to the new manager, of course, but it’s the best Kyungsoo has to offer.

 

When the doctors give him an all-clear to use the restroom by himself and not the urinal, the company representatives come and tell him that they’re keeping the whole floor restricted so he won’t be bothered by the public. The newspapers are blowing up with breaking news of Asia’s top star losing a limb at the peak of his career (no released information about Yurin), but Kyungsoo doesn’t feel like the headlines are about him at all. He just lifelessly flicks through the channels on the TV installed in his hospital room and tries to sleep whenever Jongin visits because it’s hard to accept that his existence is still real to someone. It’s like the walls of his confinement shun reality and make him slowly fade from the outside world. Like somehow, along with the car wreck, a part of him has died. A week in and already, Kyungsoo has lost so many years of stacking.

 

He’s a squirrel, stacking, stacking, stacking piles of acorn and nuts, investing, investing, saving. And then in the blink of an eye, it’s all gone. The wind has carried it away in its breeze and left no note for him to shred in anger or sadness or remorse over. He just has to keep going or go to sleep, and the later is easier so he goes with that.

 

The only presence that ever stays the same is Jongin. Before the crash, after the crash, he is eternally Jongin. Some nights, Kyungsoo thrashes in his sleep at the rerun of the unfortunate event and wakes up with doctors by his side at the alarmingly rapid speed of his heartbeat. They offer him therapy, the mental kind, but Kyungsoo turns away and gives up. In these downhill moments, Jongin sneaks into the room as Kyungsoo is sleeping and holds his hand through another night; greets him good morning first thing as he opens his eyes; makes him struggle through the scratched film of his life. In certain scenes, the frames blacken out and in others, they glitch, but Jongin keeps it playing consistently; fixes the gears so that they turn smoothly again. Rewind, reset, play. And then sometimes, he replays it again because he’s not ready to fast-forward yet.

 

“The doctors said that you can be transported to a hospital in Seoul if you like,” Jongin says on his ninth day there. “It’ll be closer to home, so it might be more convenient when you get discharged.”

 

Staring blankly at the window outside, Kyungsoo asks, “Do you want me to leave?”

 

Unsurprisingly, he doesn’t answer. But that night, when Jongin stays in his room and sleeps on the couch with a frown on his face, Kyungsoo understands as he always has. The silent answer is no.

— ♦ — ♦ — ♦ —

 

When they teach him how to use a wheelchair, Kyungsoo goes out into the garden where he sits on the wooden porch swing with Jongin. On windy days, the younger brings out a blanket from the cabinet and drapes it over their legs, checking 360 to make sure that no one is out to disturb the star’s much needed peace.

 

“Tell me why you’re here,” Kyungsoo says on one of those days, gazing outward at the field of dandelions graying at spotted intervals. “I know about your physical therapy, but I want to know why you’re receiving it.”

 

Despite being around each other for the past two weeks, they’ve only spoken the bare minimum. That’s why when Kyungsoo breaks the ice, Jongin blinks in surprise and stays quiet for a while before slowly replying, “I… have lots of pain in my hips sometimes.” Kyungsoo’s eyes are still glossing over the stems of wilting flowers as Jongin continues. “Remember when I used to call break during dance practice because my hips started acting up? You used to help me with my weird exercises and stretches, remember? Well, it’s like that but this time, it’s hard for me to do anything about it.”

 

“Why?”

 

“I have a hard time holding myself up without the wheelchair,” Jongin says, “I mean, I can walk short distances if I want to, but it’s risky. I can’t stretch my body if I can’t stand up straight, so…”

 

“But I thought you didn’t have problems with your JRA anymore.” A slight frown edges its way over Kyungsoo’s forehead. The breeze flips the runaway strands of hair on his pale forehead that Jongin wants to catch between his fingertips.

 

“I don’t. This is something different,” he explains, reaching down to pluck a stray dandelion away from the bunch. The wind blows by and collects a few seeds to take with it, drifting away like butterflies heading home. “I took this drug called Cipro a few years ago, prescribed by a doctor for a sudden case of bronchitis. Turns out my history of JRA more than tripled my chance of getting the side effects, and that’s what I got. My tendons started swelling, and a few weeks into taking the medication, I had to be bound to a wheelchair.”

 

Kyungsoo stares silently at the two said objects stationed by his right, his cast resting on the arm rest of the bench as he rocks gently.

 

“Hasn’t really been the same since,” Jongin says, swinging his legs. “It took me about a year to recover, and I got back to dancing around August of 2009 because I wasn’t ready to let it go yet. I did teach students in Uijeongbu for a while, experimented a little with some choreography. But I knew it was too late to become anything like you did; my body just couldn’t keep up. That’s why I’m here, getting treatment. It’s not just my hips now; my ankles hurt and my back hurts and I don’t want to live off of pain killers so I’m fighting with all I’ve got.”

 

“… Does it hurt right now?” the star asks, glancing in Jongin’s direction. “It’s… been a bit hectic until now and I haven’t stopped to remember that you’re at this hospital for a reason, too. I’m so selfish all the time, aren’t I? You ask me how I am but I never ask you anything.” Kyungsoo chuckles bitterly down at his gaunt hand.

 

“But you stayed,” Jongin says, watching as the remaining dandelion seeds float away from the stem. “It’s enough that you’re here. You know, with someone who left you six years ago at the worst possible time. I didn’t even deserve to contact you, to be honest. That’s why I’m even sorrier I had to hide behind someone named Kai.”

 

“Why didn’t you just sign it as Jongin?” Kyungsoo asks, watching as the sleeves of his hospital gown flutter with the coming drifts. He lets himself face his old friend, eyes transparent.

 

“I was afraid you’d stop reading them.”

 

The star’s lips tug at the corners. “What made you think I read them in the first place?”

 

At this, Jongin smiles and brings the de-petaled dandelion to Kyungsoo’s side.

 

“Because I know what Do Kyungsoo is like.”

 

For some reason, this is the phrase that finally makes Kyungsoo smile after all the nights spent burrowed in blankets to stop the bad thoughts. It makes the autumn breeze a little warmer, a bit more moderate on his skin.

 

“Well, either way, thanks for reaching me,” the star says after a while, and he takes the empty flower. Jongin smiles just the way he remembers it in the deepest crevices of his heart; eyes softened in that look he gives, attention undivided. It makes him feel like somehow, the world in its majestic splendor has finally let out its breath and pressed their play button again. Like they are truly, after all this time, meeting again.

 

“And thank you for giving me a second chance.”

 

Inside, Kyungsoo feels everything settle back in place where they belong. And so closing sunset of 2014, Jongin tumbles back into his life again.

— ♦ — ♦ — ♦ —

 

If there’s one thing that’s changed significantly since the addition of Jongin in his daily routine again, it’s his concept of time. It’s not there.

 

Day after day after passing day, Kyungsoo stays at the hospital, trying his best to avoid conversation of what he’s left behind and how he should resume it. Of course Jongin doesn’t push him, only asks “What are you going to do now?” once and lets the star find his way back home by himself. But for now, he plays all of Kyungsoo’s songs silently on the speakers by his bedside cabinet when he sleeps, wishing with all his might that somehow, this will stir a change.

— ♦ — ♦ — ♦ —

 

“I like you.”

 

Kyungsoo spills these words before he can even think of stopping them.

 

The stunned boy in front of him doesn’t say a single word back, staring down at the floor to avoid the confession. As a bead of sweat rolls down the trainee’s face, Jongin blinks with an unreadable expression and holds his breath.

 

And then, he does something Kyungsoo will never forget.

 

He picks his phone up off the wooden floor and quickly leaves.

— ♦ — ♦ — ♦ —

 

When three weeks have effortlessly gone by, most of the cuts and scrapes on Kyungsoo’s body have faded away without a trace. It’s a little disheartening that rather than a small scar from a stitch to be his evidence of a tale, he has a missing leg to prove it. But day by day, he grows used to waking up feeling his hand encircling his throbbing stump. It’s a part of him now, this absence.

 

Another new routine is that Jongin walks by himself sometimes, perspiration dotting his forehead as he stretches his body through gritted teeth. He’s always at it even if it hurts, which Kyungsoo doesn’t understand.

 

“It’s to show you proof,” he says, and the singer doesn’t understand that either. How many things has Jongin done that he doesn’t understand? The number grows bigger.

 

At times when Kyungsoo awakes in the middle of the night, back cramping at the deficient circulation of blood, he finds Jongin sleeping with his hand entangled with his own as if he were to let go, Kyungsoo will run away. Insecurity had never been Jongin’s most obvious trait, but maybe six years has changed a few invisible things. Maybe it’s even his fault.

 

Softly, his debut song “Patience” plays in the background as stars swirl around Jongin’s finger – make him shine like a giant constellation in the darkness of the night. Kyungsoo’s heart squelches with popping air bubbles as it drowns in deep water. Swims to the surface again. Drowns. Then learns to breathe in water, adapting. Living.

 

If there’s one thing he understands though, it’s the fact that Jongin never answers the many questions he is curious about.

 

Why do you stay?

 

Why do you keep trying so hard – to walk, to make me sing again, to live?

 

And it’s like without saying a word, Jongin tells him this: “Because you taught me that I’m right where I’m supposed to be.”

 

Like a promise, in hours Jongin thinks Kyungsoo is sleeping, he kisses his forehead and whispers something that makes the bent singer feel alive again:

 

“Because you mean something to me that I want to keep.”

— ♦ — ♦ — ♦ —

 

On a quiet Sunday afternoon when the sun has begun to sleep, they visit Yurin’s grave.

 

“Here,” Jongin says, handing him a can of grape-flavored Fanta Shaker. The star’s lips hint at a smile at the familiar drink. This is the right kind of soda. It always has been.

 

“Did you get one for Yurin?” Kyungsoo asks, already down on the grass with one leg outstretched before him. His cast is gone now, but he doesn’t quite lean on his fragile arm yet in fear of fracturing it. Jongin sits down across from him, descending in a zigzag because of his cracking joints. Once he is settled in a comfortable position, he places two small cans of their identical soda on the stone platform in front of the mound as an answer.

 

“I didn’t know which flavor she would like so I got her both,” Jongin explains, fingers working on the rubber band tied around the bouquet of flowers they’d bought downhill. Freeing the extra plastic wrapper, he arranges the gifts neatly side by side.

 

“What Jongin means to say is that he didn’t want to offend me by just bringing the orange flavor so he brought both,” Kyungsoo says to the grave, sipping his own drink. The little blobs of jelly feel at home on his tongue. “Obviously, grape is the better flavor, but this guy never understood that.”

 

“What are you trying to say?” Jongin says, shaking his head. “Yurin, don’t listen to this idiot. Orange is better.”

 

Smirking, Kyungsoo toes at him with his leg.

 

“Well, I know we’re being a couple of dotards right now, but we came here today because hyung wanted to say something,” the younger speaks as he picks up the orange-white can and starts shaking it to prepare the jellies in the drink. 10 shakes, Kyungsoo had used to say during their many trips to buy a plethora of them, any more, any less and you get less jellies. He follows this word of advice as he pops the soda open to set back on Yurin’s tombstone. “He’s been sitting around wasting away in the hospital, hating himself, but he never once blamed or even mentioned you until yesterday when he told me he wanted to visit your grave. I don’t know if you’re listening to us somewhere here or up there, but before I leave you and him alone, I just wanted to say that you’re lucky this guy has no guts. “

 

“Kim Jongin,” the singer warns, but said man ignores him.

 

“I’m serious,” he says, “he doesn’t know how to hate anyone but himself and he forgives people he shouldn’t forgive. But you and I are on the same boat here, so we’re friends. Let Kyungsoo babble out his soul a bit, please.”

 

Grunting as he gets back on his wheelchair, Jongin leaves the two be. Kyungsoo sighs silently when the ex-dancer pats him on the back as he wheels away.

 

“So… Yurin,” Kyungsoo starts, a slight feeling of awkwardness settling about him now that Jongin is gone. He glances at the silent grave. “I… I just wanted to say sorry. About taking your life – or making you want to take your own, that is, all because of someone like me.”

 

The blades of grass under his leg curl around his skin and hold him close.

 

“I’m sorry that I made you even think of risking such extremities to meet me and that I’ve caused your parents so much pain and worry through this. They never should have had to feel those kinds of emotions, and it’s all my fault, Yurin; I’m very, very sorry.”

 

The wind blowing by kisses his cheek softly and dries his tears before they flow again.

 

“You know, at first, I thought I would be very angry at you. My life could have ended right then and there, at such a horrible point in my life, and no one would know the truth I’ve been hiding all along. How crap of an end is that? I thought to myself. And to be honest, I expected myself to be glad that the person who did this to me was dead. But... I wasn’t.

“Being a star was something I wanted to do for myself – how could I blame you for something I asked for? It’s just that I never intended to have devoted fans or hurt anyone in the process. And it’s funny because I’ve hurt so many people, Yurin. I’ve hurt you. And that makes me very sad.”

 

Gaze lowered to the floor, Kyungsoo feels his eyes water. “I’ve been given a lot of time to think while I was in the hospital recovering, but I still don’t know what to say. I don’t know if there’s anything else I can do for your family to help them forgive me. I don’t know how I found the courage to come here to you, either. I guess I just wanted to let you know that your parents send me flowers from time to time but that they shouldn’t be.” Fingers brush against the petals on the grave. “Sometimes, I think about meeting them and telling them that they shouldn’t feel that this is their responsibility, but I get scared. I’m a horrible person, Yurin. And I’ve spent a great portion of my life very selfishly, too. I chose my dream over family, spent all this time moping over my loss when you’ve lost something even greater. I’m just,” Kyungsoo sighs when a tear drops against his will, “I’m sorry for fooling you. For letting you believe I was some brilliant musical genius when I’m not. I’m so much less than what you all make of me. I’m not who everyone thinks I am, and I’m ashamed to face any of my fans again. It’s not even a matter of doubting myself anymore, I’m just so sorry about everything I’ve done. I don’t deserve anybody in my life.”

 

Kyungsoo puts a palm to Yurin’s grave.

 

“But I just wish that you’d forgive me, Yurin. Please forgive me so I can find myself again.”

— ♦ — ♦ — ♦ —

 

The reason Jongin plays Kyungsoo’s songs constantly throughout the night is to see progress.

 

Some nights, Kyungsoo’s lips part just the slightest and mumble the lyrics to the songs he has learned by heart. Others, a tiny stream of tears takes its place. Jongin watches every sign of change with hope in his heart.

 

Frankly, he knows Kyungsoo will come around. It’s the reason he tries so hard to walk despite the excruciating pain, why he’s tried to find Kyungsoo again in the first place. He knows the passion is there, the reason for Kyungsoo’s existence he wants to uphold. And he wants to help Kyungsoo find it again, because the star had done the same many years ago when he’d been too young to know how easily people could walk out of his life.

 

Jongin has nothing else to live for anyway. It’s funny that when there’s just one goal in front of him, both his feet do everything they can to charge toward it.

 

That goal, then and now, is none other than Do Kyungsoo.

— ♦ — ♦ — ♦ —

 

One day, he finally does it, that Kim Jongin.

 

Night of October 30^th, a long while into his stay, a nurse walks into his hospital ward to tell him that Jongin, who’d been missing all day, is waiting for him in the garden. Which is strange, Kyungsoo thinks as he rolls up the sleeves of his hospital gown and throws a cushion onto his wheelchair to give his stump some leverage, considering the fact that the idiot never lets me out of his sight.

 

“What’s up with you?” Kyungsoo asks as soon as he wheels himself over to the bench Jongin is sitting in. “Making me go places on my own; that’s very unlike you.”

 

“I wanted to show you something,” the younger says, and there is a confusing look about his face that mirrors the ambiguity six years ago. But Kyungsoo is not afraid this time – he would willingly give a list of reasons why Jongin should leave him, after all. Let’s reveal Fun Lie #3: Kyungsoo can teach himself to play any instrument if you let him handle it for an hour. Truth is, he can’t. Not at all. He’s stupid, that’s what he is. And so Jongin should leave him. That’s reason number one.

 

“Sit,” Jongin beckons, patting the spot next to him. Quietly, the older moves himself from seat to seat, a task that now requires much less patience than it’d used to before. When Kyungsoo settles down properly and completely by his side, the dancer faces him.

 

“I didn’t know when the right time to give this to you would be, but…” Jongin lets out a breath as he reaches inside his shirt to bring out a long metal necklace. To Kyungsoo’s surprise, two silver rings hang from it. “It’s waited long enough so I’ll give it a go.”

 

“… What is that?” Kyungsoo asks. Jongin stares pensively at the accessory before explaining with a sigh:

 

“The day before you moved to Seoul, I bought these for us. They’re friendship rings, silver, worn on your middle finger.” He unhooks the ends and pulls out the two bands to place on his palm. “I wanted you to have something from home to take with you; a piece of me, I mean, so that you could always look at it and feel safe. But it never got to you.”

 

“… Because I left?”

 

Jongin doesn’t look him in the eye. “No, because I was afraid.”

 

Putting the emptied necklace into his jacket pocket, Jongin continues.

 

“Do you… remember the day you confessed to me? How I ran out like an idiot and never talked to you again?”

 

“… Yes, quite vividly.”

 

A star twinkles overhead. “It was because I was scared of… hurting you. And me. But mostly me because none of my actions were your fault.”

 

“But you still hurt me,” Kyungsoo says, chuckling a bit. It’s still such a sad sound.

 

“I know,” Jongin replies, and he swallows. “And I’m always going to be doing that because that’s what you do to people you love. But I wanted you to know what happened because I need you to do me a favor.”

 

Kyungsoo lets him continue.

 

“The day I got caught sneaking into your studio, I overheard something,” Jongin starts, audible and firm. “Your vocal trainer was arguing about how it would just be better to let me go and make me promise to keep my mouth shut about knowing you, screaming and yelling at one of the representatives all red in the face. But the rep said that they’d already told me they would sign me under the company and train me and that it was the best option. But it wasn’t, you know. They lied. When they sat us down and told us we were gonna be trainees together, he was just talking about you.”

 

Something in Jongin’s eyes betray him, the tiniest waver. “But I thought: okay, that’s fine. I wasn’t meant to be here in the first place – I’m just gonna hang around a bit, act like I’ve lost interest in becoming famous, then just keep my mouth shut like they want me to. I wanted you to make it, Kyungsoo – even if people wanted to use me to get you there. I didn’t care. I let them take advantage of me because…”

 

And then, a tremble in his voice. A kink. “Because I wanted to be your friend. So I stayed. I taught you everything I knew about dancing, gave you a little bit of my heart with every step we memorized. You were the only one who didn’t care about how thick my glasses were or how I couldn’t beat a bully in a stupid school race so I could prove to him a little something about kids with JRA. But that’s exactly what scared me. Every time I would look at you and feel like I belonged, I couldn’t help the thought that if you happened to be a kid at my school, you’d hate me.

“I hid a lot of things from you, honestly. I didn’t tell you about my plans of dropping the future you thought I’d reach for. I didn’t tell you I was worthless to every person who met me – the peers at school, even the company reps. Just a big, ty chunk of absolutely nothing. And poor you were my friend because you didn’t know a side of me that I wanted to hide so much. That’s why I was scared when you told me you liked me. I thought that letting you in all the way would make you see all the wrecked furniture inside and make you kick a few tables yourself. And that thought had the potential of ripping me apart because you mean so much to me, Kyungsoo. I liked you, but I was scared of disappointing you so I ran.”

 

“Jongin,” Kyungsoo says, but the retired dancer shakes his head.

 

“It was stupid, I know. Because I underestimated you. But the problem is that I only realized it until a few days after, when all I could do was try to say sorry and make it work again. I wanted to give you something in case you were too mad by then – a parting gift so that I could at least forgive myself. That’s why I didn’t show up for a couple weeks, avoiding you, begging and begging my uncle to talk his friend into letting me pay back for the rings I needed through doing work for him.

“But it was raining really hard the day before your showcase when I tried to face you again, and on my way to the studio, I saw Jjangah struggling in the mud with a litter of newborn puppies. Remember the dog I used to feed all the time? After that incident, I took her home and we named her Jjangah. But in my rush, I didn’t realize I was shedding my clothes and I didn’t even know I was sick until I got home and collapsed on the floor. You know me – I’m stupid. So I had to stay home for two days after that with a fever over hundred three degrees, coughing my guts up.”

 

Kyungsoo feels his heart pacing steadily in his chest when Jongin reaches for his hand.

 

“And when we went to the doctor, they said I’d caught bronchitis. My cold was something severe, I guess.”

 

The rest of the story clicks with a soft sound in Kyungsoo’s head, gears slotted correctly and turning again. He almost wants to punch Jongin.

 

“So you took Cipro,” he says, swallowing the lump in his throat instead.

 

Eyes cast on the rings, Jongin nods.

 

“And ruined your future,” Kyungsoo says, a strong churning bubbling in his stomach, “I ruined your future. Jongin, I… this – all this, your legs, your wheelchair, this. It’s all my fault, I –”

 

“It’s not,” the younger says with a hint of a smile so warm and tender it makes him blink and let the tears fall. “I swear it’s not, Kyungsoo. Don’t ever think that, please. I’m not telling you this because I want you to feel guilty. Remember, I need you to do me a favor.”

 

“And what the hell is your favor?” Kyungsoo asks, and he hates how the lights in the sky gather around Jongin’s face and soul and make him so bright that a little bit of it rubs off on him as well.

 

“I want you to sing again,” Jongin answers. “I need you to sing, hyung. That’s my favor.”

 

Time to someone who has learned to measure it twice as fast as normal is ticking at a rapid pace. Kyungsoo knows that he can’t avoid pain that comes with surviving something like this; eventually, he has to catch up on his schedule and get over this and continue his life again. It’s too early to fade. But mustering the courage to face the people who worry about his wellbeing while he’s been lying to them is not so easy anymore. When Kyungsoo sees himself in the mirror these days, he wants to flip it upside down.

 

Eyes glistening, Jongin slips a ring into his left ring finger and then his own. “Look,” he says, “we’ve both grown so thin they fit better in the wrong finger.”

 

Kyungsoo’s hands tremble on his lap. “Jongin, I… I can’t. I’m not Do Kyungsoo like you said. I’m not ready and I think it’s pointless to try because…”

 

Then, Kim Jongin stands on his feet.

 

The dancer who’d struggled so many nights trying to find his grip on the earth again finally does it.

 

He walks, tears welling, straight into a field of so many dandelions that they look like soft cotton under his feet. He crouches, something he hadn’t been able to do very well even back when they were teenagers, and shakes his way up again, trembling with effort, trembling with pain. And then he walks back toward him. Like a miracle, Jongin walks.

 

“You’re a dandelion, just like this,” he says, and he bends on one knee, tear slipping down his face as he bunches his fist together to cooperate with his strained body. “It’s dead, right? Wilted. It used to be yellow and bright and alive. But in order for a dandelion to spread its seeds, it’s gotta die.”

 

The wind flutters silently by and just like it always does, sweeps a few seeds in its arms and flies away.

 

“Your heart, Kyungsoo, it’s too nice. You’re afraid just like I was. But you don’t have to be. You can’t be afraid of the wind, hyung. You can’t fear change. Just because you’ve grayed away, just because you’ve lost a few seeds doesn’t mean you’re dying. Somewhere out there, somewhere you may not even know, a new flower is blooming thanks to you. Just because the dandelion is dead doesn’t mean it’s not a dandelion anymore, right? You’re Kyungsoo minus a leg and Kyungsoo minus the lies but you’re still Kyungsoo. And like this dandelion here, you can’t be afraid to let yourself go.”

 

The bud, now bare, awaits him again between Jongin’s trembling index finger and thumb. “Eternity in one flower, that’s a dandelion. And you?” he says, legs crying out with fire and ice. “You’re more than brave enough to be just like it. The purpose of life isn’t to receive, hyung. It’s to give. So I need you to sing, Kyungsoo. Promise me.”

 

“Get up,” Kyungsoo says, his own eyes dripping, dropping, letting tears free. “Please get up, Jongin, you’re hurting yourself.”

 

“Promise me,” Jongin says, waiting.

 

Eyebrows furrowing to measure his heavy heart, Kyungsoo takes the empty dandelion yet again and brings Jongin up, tears staining his strong shoulder as he hugs him close. The first time crying had been hard. Now, it’s the easiest thing to do as he finds comfort in the boy with an iron heart.

 

“Okay, I promise,” he whispers. And then Jongin leans in.

 

For the first time in his life, Kyungsoo forgets his name. It’s an embarrassing slip of his brain, but it’s because Kim Jongin, burning and bright, puts all the concentration of his mind into his heart as he kisses him.

 

Six years delayed, Jongin kisses him.

 

Even the stars dim just a little to offer them a cover in the night. And Kyungsoo, dandelion faded gray, learns how to spread his wings again.

— ♦ — ♦ — ♦ —

 

The fanmeet takes place on December 23^rd of 2014, a sixth year anniversary turned comeback, the first public appearance Kyungsoo is making after his accident.

 

Jongdae visits again and brings a pretty lady by the name of Zhang Liyin with him to say he’s getting settled soon. Kyungsoo finds that it’s nice to know it’s not just him who has found a heartwarming place to be after so much downfall in the past few months. He’ll be too busy to come back and be his manager again, he says, but he’s found another job in the company so he’ll be around. And just like that, Kyungsoo finds one more person who stays in his life.

 

Preparations are hectic. After the staff has finished gaping at his stump, they get their heads together and arrange a large stadium for Kyungsoo to use that day, sound checks and tech checks rerun on the loop before D-Day.

 

Show time comes like a bolt, so quick and nimble that Kyungsoo doesn’t even have time to think out the words he wants to say. On the day of the fanmeet, Jongin leaves a can of Fanta Shaker in the waiting room for him to drink, but he keeps it in his pocket instead as he heads onstage. For courage.

 

Thundering overhead, a remix of Kyungsoo’s hit songs plays across the hall. The star takes a deep breath, closing his eyes as he wheels himself quietly before the people he has come to miss. The lights dim to shine the spotlight, and the music fades away. Kyungsoo’s lips are tinted red with blood like the day six years ago.

 

“… Hey guys,” the star says, eyes daring to open. His heart lurches at the sight that unfolds before him. The seats are filled to the last row, a sea of placards that read his name loyally and “We missed you”, phrases that he doesn’t deserve. Nervous already, he hoists himself up from the wheelchair and onto the stool.

 

“… As you guys can see, I’ve lost a leg in the past few months I’ve been away,” he starts, glancing over the crowd in panoramic motion. The amount of tears he sees breaks his heart. “But I’m okay now – I’m alive and well.”

 

Smiling, he moves his stump up and down. The crowd stirs. “See? Everything is fine.”

 

“I’ve been hiding in the hospital for a while, healing more than just my leg. And I brought you all here today not for a concert or a fanmeet but because I wanted to share a confession.” Kyungsoo adjusts the microphone piece in his ear to ease his shaking hands. “You see, I’ve got a lot of secrets you guys don’t know about, and I wanted to reveal them.”

 

A picture of him appears on the screen above, eleven years old and playing in the creek a few minutes away from home. The setting is in Uijeongbu: the truth.

 

“This is me before I was casted – not in Seoul, but dreaming about a future like this one in a little city an hour away. This is my first lie: I didn't live in Seoul and I wasn’t scouted on the streets.”

 

He shuts out the little sounds he hears from the people sitting before him. This is an obligation he must get through; he cannot shatter.

 

“I wasn't even adopted - my parents live in Uijeongbu. Many years ago, my mother gave birth to me. My blood father taught me how to fish in the winter. And I don’t have perfect pitch,” he says, voice borderline trembling now, “I don’t know how to play instruments well and I’m not a good cook. I know I used to always talk about my famous kimchi spaghetti on radio shows, but I’ve never even tried making it.”

 

Heart pounding madness in and out of his chest, Kyungsoo closes his eyes.

 

“And I don’t have any friends I can truly name without feeling guilty. I’m not close with Ryeowook hyung and I don’t go out to drink with Kris like you guys think I do. I have only one friend and he’s someone I met in Uijeongbu: my childhood best friend who knows everything about me.”

 

Kyungsoo swallows and presses a button on his remote to present the next picture. This time, it’s the one he took with Jongin in the practice room, a picture he’d kept no matter how many times he told himself he was done with hurting. The dancer is holding the camera and Kyungsoo is slotting his head on his shoulder, big smiles on both their faces. Jongin still wears glasses in this time of their life, the little windows Kyungsoo had loved peering through.

 

“This is Jongin, my dance teacher. You guys probably know him as Dahyun,” he says. “He’s Dahyun, everyone. The story you guys all heard on Strong Heart about me leaving my first love behind? That’s him. I don’t know a Dahyun. Kim Jongin is the person I left.”

 

The crowd grows louder in his ears even if he tries to block out the sounds. He crumbles even though it’s what he’d expected, every muscle in his body twitching.

 

“We trained together and grew up together. When SM Entertainment casted me at their weekly auditions, they gave me a studio to practice in, hidden in Uijeongbu where no one could talk to me. But Jongin found me – he found me twice.”

 

His voice rises in volume as the slide moves to show another picture. This time, it’s of the dancer sitting on their usual bench, clad in a hospital gown after receiving treatment and smiling up at the camera. In truth, it had been a picture taken secretly when Jongin had held up a hand to get him to stop. This photo illuminates the audience now.

 

“And this is him, the boy who gave up everything he had just so I could be here. He gave up his future so he could teach me how to live. He even got rid of his glasses because I said he looked better without them. He’s my role model.”

 

When the yelling around him grows too loud for him to bear, Kyungsoo drops down from his stool and kneels on one knee, head bowed. The pain shoots up every muscle and makes him quake.

 

“And all of you here today, you guys are everything I have. I’m sorry to disappoint everyone like this, the only people who trusted in me. I’m sorry that I’m apologizing only now and I’m sorry I’m doing it in this condition, too.”

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, and the world star shares a little bit of his shine with every person in the room – eternity in his words, just like Jongin had said. “So, so sorry.”

 

His ears open at that moment, and when he finally hears, when he finally listens to what the crowd is confessing back at him, he weeps.

 

“When you’re hidden by the stars,

a galaxy all around you,

when you’re dim compared to all

and overshadowed,

just know you’ve got a place.”

 

His fans are singing in uniform to him, a song he’d gifted to the world six years ago.

 

"There’s a spot right here for you,

right where you belong

Because you’re a star in my life,

No matter how small

or how lost you are”

 

He opens his eyes and Jongin is looking up at him in the front row, smiling a smile he wants to keep forever.

 

 

“So have patience, my love,

You’re here in my heart.

And when you want to come home again,

just know.”

 

Do Kyungsoo sings on stage to Jongin for the first time.

 

“You’ll always belong

Belong right here,

at home, you see, home in my arms.”

 

— ♦ — ♦ — ♦ —