••••••••

            Sehun isn’t sure how he makes it home, but he does. He doesn’t remember carrying Luhan in either, but he’s on the couch now, snoring under a Mickey Mouse blanket that Sehun usually keeps mildewing in the closet because it’s never cold enough in his apartment for two covers. He stares at him, watching him sleep, wondering what he’s going to do with him in the morning and drawing up blanks. He’s pictured reuniting with Luhan a million times, but he never could have fathomed this. He’d always imagined that Luhan would still be in his tree when he drove up, waving from its branches with nothing but the saffron of elation marking his features. He had always believed that they’d link fingers and move on from the silly goodbye that wasn’t a goodbye, anyways, because they were going to meet again, were meant to meet again.

            He’d never thought that he’d have to see tears dirtying Luhan’s face a second time. He’d never thought that Luhan would forget him at the same time that he remembered. He’d never thought finding him again would make him feel this lost.

            He finds himself sighing for the umpteenth time that night as he dabs Luhan’s eyes with a wet paper towel because he’s heard it reduces swelling. He thinks he’ll call out of work, even if Kyungsoo will about it for a straight week. This is too emotionally exhausting to not be a legitimate reason to take an impromptu vacation. He figures that he can take care of Luhan tomorrow and make sure he’s physically and spiritually sound. When he’s sober, he can lead them to the right house, where Sehun will drop him off and probably never see him again. It’ll be for the best, he thinks, but he curls his fingers around Luhan’s anyways and wishes things were different.

            Luhan responds in his sleep, muttering something under his breath, but when Sehun tries to dislodge his hand, Luhan only grips him tighter. His worried features smooth out, and Sehun almost swears that he’s smiling, something he hasn’t done since Sehun encountered him on the side of the road.

            He looks so much more like Luhan that way, and Sehun feels grateful for finding him after all.

            Sehun wakes up a few hours later to find that he’s been slumped in his chair next to the couch, and although he distinctly remembers Luhan being on the other side of his hand, there’s no one there to confirm those memories now. Sehun would probably forget them if Luhan wasn’t the star of them; now, it’s all he can think about, and he unexpectedly panics at the thought of Luhan being gone. He hears the toilet flush somewhere in his apartment and jolts to his feet, walking briskly towards it and running into a small figure in the hallway. Luhan takes a step back, rubbing the point where his head made contact with Sehun’s chest sheepishly, and peeks up at him, eyes half-closed with what Sehun thinks is probably the beginnings of a massive hangover.

            “Hi,” Luhan says meekly. Sehun waves, shifting his weight onto one foot and scratching the back of his neck. Luhan does about the same, wringing his hands out around each other, before finally blurting, “I am so so so so sorry for last night, whatever I said or did was probably out of line and I can’t really remember any of it but—”

            “It’s fine,” Sehun interjects, waving a hand dismissively. “I didn’t want you out and alone, and you couldn’t remember where you lived, so I brought you back here. Nothing happened, so don’t worry about it.” He gestures behind Luhan, looking pointedly over his head. “Can I use the bathroom now?”

            Luhan reddens and moves nimbly out of the way, apologizing again as he shuffles his way past Sehun. Sehun trudges into the bathroom, but he doesn’t use it. He sits heavily on the toilet, placing his head in his hands, and for the first time in a long time, Sehun cries. It’s only a few stray tears, really – not nearly enough to make his face swell or his eyes go glassy and red like Luhan’s – but it’s more than he’s had since the day he was shipped off to his first foster home, all the way across the country. He’s not even sure which pit in his brain that the tears are surging from, but they’re very much there, anyways, and they sear across his memory, even as they disappear under his fingers.

            It takes a few moments before he can manage to compose himself again. He stands to leave and flushes the toilet for good measure, skipping handwashing because he doesn’t care that much about the accuracy of his fake bathroom trip, and steps out to find Luhan sitting on the very edge of his couch, peering down uncomfortably at his own fingernails.

            Sehun coughs as he enters, drawing Luhan’s attention. His eyes are even bigger than they were as a child, Sehun notes, although his face has grown enough to suit them. He looks up at Sehun somewhat expectantly, as if searching for an answer to some question he hasn’t asked yet. Sehun coughs again.

            “Do you want any coffee?” he asks, rubbing an arm nervously. Luhan looks surprised, but he nods and offers Sehun a tiny smile.

            “That would be nice,” he says slowly. “But only if it wouldn’t inconvenience you.” He pauses a moment, staring fixatedly at Sehun’s face again. Sehun fights the urge to run out of his own apartment. “Have I… Have we met before now?”

            Sehun laughs, and it sounds a little crazy, even to his own ears. “You asked me the same question last night, and I told you that we’d never met before. I guess you don’t remember.”

            Luhan looks back down at his nails. “I don’t remember much anymore,” he mutters under his breath. “The only things I remember now are the things I want to forget.”

            Sehun doesn’t know how to respond, so he pads into his kitchen instead to start the coffee. Luhan must have gotten up and followed him because he’s in the doorway now, hugging the wall and watching Sehun measure enough coffee grounds for two cups.

            “What’s your name?” Luhan asks, and Sehun freezes. He’s not sure why he’s compelled to lie, but after Luhan’s announcement the previous night about his best friend, Sehun knows that he’ll remember him if he says his real name. He doesn’t want Luhan to remember him – not now. He can’t explain why it feels like the wrong time, the wrong way, but it does.

            When he was younger, he had a puzzle – the simple kind, geared towards children. It consisted of three pieces: a triangle, a circle, and a square. Each had its own respective spot, and no matter how many times Sehun tried to stuff the square piece in the circular hole, it would never fit.

            Telling Luhan his real identity feels sort of like that.

            “Kyungsoo,” Sehun finds himself blurting. “My name…my name is Do Kyungsoo.”

            Luhan smiles. “I guess I really haven’t met you,” he muses. “I would remember a name like that.” Sehun finally finds his muscles again, and he continues making the coffee in silence up until Luhan begins again. “Luhan. My name is just… Luhan.”

            Sehun doesn’t know what to say, so he just chooses not to think about it. “That’s a nice name. It’s…familiar.”

            “Yeah?” Luhan giggles behind his palm, and it sounds exactly the same as it used to – like a starved hyena. Sehun nearly drops the mug he’s been preparing. “Maybe we’ve met in another life or something. Some weird sort of déjà vu. You ever heard of that?”

            “Yeah,” Sehun says, turning to hand Luhan the first full cup of coffee. “I think it’s a little different, though. A little more…boring.”

            Luhan accepts the coffee cup, taking a tentative sip and looking pleased at the result. Sehun turns back to his coffee pot to make his own cup, trying to hide the pink that’s tinting his ears. “But don’t you think that déjà vu is meant to be exciting? Sort of like unraveling a mystery or something. The mystery of a thing that you’ve experienced, but also haven’t.”

            “I’ve lived enough déjà vu to be completely sure that it’s boring and dumb and nothing like that at all.”

            “You’re no fun,” Luhan accuses, and this isn’t the way Luhan would talk to someone he’d just met. Not ever. Maybe drunk Luhan would, but drunk Luhan isn’t real Luhan, anyhow. The Luhan that’s standing in front of him is the real Luhan, the one that’s ignoring the coffee foam on his upper lip in favor of dipping his face closer to the cup and shifting from foot to foot as if he can’t keep still. This is the Luhan whose laugh sounds like whales mating, who’s apologetic at the same time that he’s curious and kind at the same time that he’s nervous – this is the same Luhan who crosses his eyes when he’s got nothing to say and the same Luhan who holds philosophical discussions about how to make crayons, and Sehun isn’t sure how he knows that just by looking at him, but he does. Luhan must have noticed, too, because he’s looking up from his coffee at Sehun as if he is someone he’s known all his life, which, technically, wouldn’t be completely untrue.

            “I really feel like I know you,” Luhan says. “Like… I’m comfortable here. Isn’t that weird?”

            Sehun takes a sip of his own coffee, flicking off the machine. “I guess déjà vu can be pretty weird sometimes.”

기억 – III

상기하다 2000-4-7

“Jongdae thinks he’s so cool.
He said he could take Tao in a fight,
if he had to.
If Tao was there, he would have beaten him
silly.

I tried to remind him of that one time
he helped an old lady with her groceries
and tripped over her cane.
The ground beat him up pretty bad, then.

He pretended
that he didn’t remember.”