••••••••

            They spend the morning watching the news on Sehun’s microwave-sized television, Luhan pointing and laughing at all the exaggerated politicians and falling into blue silence at any mention of death. Sehun watches Luhan more than he watches the screen, pressing into memory the picture of his wide smile and his crinkling eyes and the life that hums from the tips of his fingertips, the soles of his feet, the ends of his hair and the beginnings of his black roots. He reminds Sehun of the little weapon the social workers had used to pacify his mom, except he’s far less scary and far more…something else. It’s different than the sort of life that buzzed through him when he was a child, full of energy at all hours of the day.

            That’s one thing that’s changed about Luhan – his entire atmosphere feels tired, as if he was born with a battery and it’s finally running low. Luhan falls into naps on and off all morning, and when Sehun wakes him the first time to ask him about his house, Luhan only blinks at him, rubs his eyes sleepily, and snuggles back into the couch pillow. Sehun presses his lips together in frustration, but he gets up, padding toward the kitchen. Every time Luhan has been awake thus far, he’s felt like he’s been about to fall into a big black pit of unconsciousness, anyways, so Sehun figures it’s better to let him get it out of his system. It’s only for a day. I’ve only got to make it through this day.

            Even though Luhan is different, Sehun thinks it’s pretty hard to ignore how he’s still the same. The life whispering through his limbs may be unlike his childhood version, but it’s still life, the same sort that Luhan always had as a kid – happy, even if it’s imbued with a wistfulness that Sehun can’t rightfully explain.

            Luhan wakes again an hour and a half later, stumbling into the kitchen as if he were still drunk and croaking, “Water.” Sehun immediately grabs the first glass he sees, wrinkling his nose at all the scuffs and scratches on the outside, and fills it with distilled water from his sink. Luhan downs it in one go, wiping his lips with the back of his hand and panting. His hair is even more disheveled than it was the first time he woke up, and he glances worriedly at the clock before groaning.

            “I missed my class,” he gripes, dragging a hand down his haggard face. “I’m nearly out of absences for that one.”

            Sehun shrugs, which is probably his favorite response to anything that anyone could ever say. He grabs another glass and pours some water for himself, taking much smaller sips before again offering it to Luhan, who’s eyeing it with near-frenzied want. “I tried to wake you up, but you weren’t having it.”

            Luhan takes the glass and practically swallows it whole, too, water dribbling down his chin. He stares gratefully at Sehun and imitates his shrug with a small grin. “I’m pretty adamant about my eight hours.”

            “More like fifteen.” Sehun takes the empty glasses out of Luhan’s hands and sets them in the sink, leaning back on his counter. “Are you ready to go home yet?”

            Luhan recoils, and Sehun feels his stomach plummet. “I…” Luhan bites his lip. He’s always doing that. “I guess I’m ready whenever you want me out of your house.”

            Sehun studies him with careful eyes. He’s never been the most observant, but it’s always been different with Luhan. He can read every stray emotion on Luhan’s face, and right now, it’s screaming don’t make me leave. Sehun braves a question. “Why did your friends blackball you last night?”

            That hits even closer to home than the suggestion of leaving. Luhan looks physically pained, and he subtly grabs the wall to steady himself, but Sehun notices because it’s Luhan. “I don’t… I can’t. I just—”

            Sehun wants to revoke the question, but it’s already in the air. He takes a step closer to Luhan, and Luhan reacts instantly, his head snapping up to peer warily into Sehun’s face. Sehun tethers his own hands behind his back in an attempt to seem less intimidating, and he mirrors Luhan’s facial expression. “Do you…. Do you not remember?”

            Sehun gives him a meaningful look as he says it. Don’t say anything you don’t want to. Luhan’s face softens appreciatively. “I… Yeah. It’s… It’s all kind of a blur right now.”

            Sehun shrugs. Kyungsoo usually tells him that his shoulders are going to cramp up like that one day when he does that, but Luhan just looks at him as if he’s some sort of angel. It’s making Sehun slightly uncomfortable, so he brushes past Luhan towards his living room, although he doesn’t really feel like watching any more news broadcasts right now. Luhan doesn’t follow him, but he does turn with him, and Sehun can feel his eyes, hot and searching on the back of his head.

            “I live in a dorm,” he says quietly. “With my friend, Minseok. You can… You can take me there. Whenever you need me to go.”

            Sehun hazily remembers Luhan mentioning the name Minseok the night before. He’d left his stuff in the car. That was it. Wallets and keys and money, oh my. “Was Minseok one of the people who kicked you out of the car?”

            Luhan gnaws on his lip. “Yeah. Yeah, he was. It wasn’t his decision, but… Yeah.”

            “So he wasn’t the one in the front seat screaming like a maniac?”

            Luhan shakes his head quickly. “No. My other friend wanted to drive, and when he wants to do something, he just sort of…does it. Minseok was in the back. With me.”

            Sehun purses his lips. The way Luhan says Minseok’s name is…strange. As if it’s lodged somewhere. As if it’s choking him, but not from his throat. From somewhere harder to reach. Luhan isn’t looking at him anymore, choosing instead to peruse the carpet, which just so happens to be the blandest beige flooring ever. Sehun is usually a fountain of indecision, always relying on other people to make the choices for him, but in this instant, he feels exceptionally clear. He reaches out and puts a hand on Luhan’s shoulder, squeezing gently, and even though he knows this is probably the worst idea he’s ever had, the look of pure surprise on Luhan’s face is enough to shove that thought down.

            “Stay as long as you need to,” Sehun says, pulling his hand back again. “As long as it takes to figure out whatever is…wrong.” He gestures ambiguously, but Luhan seems to understand what he means. Luhan looks like he might cry again, and Sehun isn’t sure where he’s erred, but then Luhan’s arms are clasped behind his neck in a hug that feels more like a lifeline.

            “Thank you,” Luhan whispers. His voice breaks, and Sehun doesn’t know what to make of it. He rests clumsy hands on the protruding bones of Luhan’s hips, scared of enveloping him completely, as if he’ll dissolve into dust if he makes any move too far. When Luhan pulls away, Sehun’s hands fall obediently back to his sides, but he still feels the tickle of Luhan’s palpable life itching along his fingers. It’s like Luhan’s spark has rubbed off on him, the way glitter rubs off on your fingers when you touch it or the way graphite smudges on the sides of your hands when you brush penciled notes. Sehun wants to reach out, to link their fingers together and tell him how much he’s missed these things about him since their childhood days.

            Instead, he shrugs, and listlessly moves to the bathroom to cry again.

기억 – IV

잊다 2001-6-3

“Jongin got bit by a snake today.
His mom had told him they don’t like being held,
but I think he’d forgotten.”