Playlist: 바람, 그대 — 성시경 

A voice came first.

It was dark—the hallway—and Myungsoo should’ve been scared. Really. The place was practically empty; a drastic difference from the floors below—the one he had taken the elevator from. Was it B, or was it G floor? It could’ve been B2 for all he cared, though.

He wasn’t all that drunk. And somewhere in his head, he wished his own mind would at least agree with him. Soon would be nice. Myungsoo really should start training himself on his persuasion skills more diligently, then convince himself somehow. People outside of him were a breeze. It was easy manipulating people. There had been times—like now—where he wished he was the people outside himself (it made sense in his head, okay). Because then he could just walk up to the boy and proceed to use his eyes and words and all the whatnots to charm the pants off of himself.

Myungsoo wasn’t that drunk—he repeated. That was all he could do for now.

you, who always held my hand
where are you now
in that distant place

A quiet knock sounded against the wall just by his side. He was sure it was a wall, so why was it knocking? Then he remembered he should be focusing on that voice which was slowly creeping down from the other end of the hallway. Myungsoo was only a bit distracted by the constant knock—knock—knock but it really wasn’t a big deal. Maybe he should thank his alcohol for that.

Then he heard footsteps. His first thought wasn’t anything ghostly at all actually. It was more of: ’Crap. What if I get caught. What if—‘

messed me up in so little time    
the wind, the autumn
missing you again
like this, i know it’s autumn

Footsteps were light. They were getting clearer and so was that voice. Myungsoo eventually figured they must’ve come together—the footsteps and the voice. The voice was light too. Airy and nonchalant. And how the footsteps padded against the floor convinced him they were clothed in slippers. Myungsoo would’ve been scared if he at least caught a glimpse of the sign on the wall—Long-Term Recovery Ward. But because he didn’t, he merely wondered what kind of person wore slippers at a place like this.

Yes, so a lot of things were wrong inside his head. He figured that much. Because the answer was obvious. It was probably a patient. Hospitalised patients wore slippers. Duh.

i’m not crying but,
i’m barely calm
i’m also messed up, like this

A figure came into view. Just the silhouette. It was strolling lightly with its thin arms swinging just as lightly by its sides. Myungsoo squinted. That didn’t help since he was standing next to a giant box illuminating its stupid light—the vending machine. So he moved away from the stupid rectangular box and leaned against the knocking wall. And the wall wasn’t knocking anymore. Weird.

the seasons pass by
it’ll probably come back again but
they pass by

It was definitely fate. Myungsoo decided when the figure stopped in front of him eyeing the vending machine in such a detailed manner. Myungsoo frowned. Was this person ignoring him? Myungsoo had been standing there forever waiting for any other human beings to show up. It was probably fate. He had forgotten the room number during the taxi ride. He didn’t even remember paying the taxi driver.

The all too familiar height told him the person before him was Park Myungsin. And from the way this dwarf was humming some out-of-date song, she probably didn’t see him. After all, Myungsoo was standing in the dark and there was this giant pot plant casting its dumb shadow over him. He’d like to blame it on the plant. Myungsoo stepped forward, his shoes were unexpectedly loud against the floor.

Actually, he didn’t mean to scare her less. Really. He might have done some things others would consider immoral or ‘sick’ as Sunggyu once put it, it wasn’t in his mind to scare her at that moment (maybe some other time but not at the moment). Not that it made any difference anyway. The girl had whipped around, a gasp caught in , stepped back and stumbled. Stupid really. Myungsoo noted while watching Myungsin hit her shoulder loudly against the illuminating box. He rolled his eyes.

“Are you dumb.” He stated just as the giant box behind her shuddered and vomited out a can of something. Myungsin gasped again, quickly bending down, hand disappearing inside its mouth.

“I didn’t want this.” She frowned, straightening up and dusted off the drink against her hospital shirt. Myungsoo’s brows furrowed. Was she ignoring him?

“Why are you out of bed.” He tried again in the same dull tone, although he actually meant: ‘It’s the least you could do after you ed things up for me. And also because I forgot your stupid room number.’

She finally looked up at him, expression unreadable. How weird.

“I don’t want coffee at eight pm.” Myungsin responded just as monotonous, handed him the drink with a straight face. He took it, stepping forward and eyed the machine suspiciously.

“Then what do you want?” Myungsoo asked, gaze not leaving the labels. He fished out his wallet, turning to her expectantly. Myungsin sighed, gaze flickering from his face to the labels and back.

“I was still deciding,” Her voice turned heavy, as if deciding on what to drink was the hardest decision ever. And as if reading his mind, she added. “It’s not for me. It’s for the little kid next door.”

He would’ve questioned her why she wanted to get a sick kid anything at this time at night, but then he remembered that Myungsin was stupid so he just sighed, and pressed the button he’d been eyeing for the longest time.

“How do you know she likes chocolate milk? What if she likes strawberry? And what if she’s lactose intolerant or something,” The stupid person beside Myungsoo reasoned. His head was starting to ache. But then her next words had him convinced she was stupid for real. “And besides she’s a girl. How are we supposed to know what girls like?”

What.

“Have you lost your mind.” He plainly stated, brows furrowing before feeding random coins into the machine with unnecessary amount of agitation. Swiftly, Myungsoo bent down to retrieve the cold carton that was vomited before fluidly bouncing back to his feet. ‘See? I didn’t stumble. Told you I wasn’t drunk.’ He grumbled to the person inside his head.

“Did you drink? You kind of stink.” 

And Myungsoo would later wonder why she hadn’t questioned him for showing up with only one purpose in mind: to make her night hell.

What did he not understand about of rehabilitation? It was against the law to sneak in past visiting hours, not to mention extremely dangerous. Exposing patients to fatal reactions to an intruder as tactless as Myungsoo? Myungsin thought she had been quite generous. She was in a critical state and extremely drained, all the doctors had said so; people like her would’ve long been dead—right now, she was too exhausted to keep her sanity intact. 

The past months of exposing herself to the outside world took a toll on her. Not to mention, how emotionally invested she was in Sungyeol. The way he had been at the beginning was too familiar, Myungsin had seen it all before—she knew well how it would end. It would’ve been too painful to watch happen all over again, especially when these things could be prevented. It would’ve hurt everyone, not just her, not just Dongwoo. Sungyeol didn’t deserve to go through the same things Jungshin had. Even if it was a different start, the endings would always be the same.

Dongwoo remembered Myungsin’s voice over the phone,

“This is why bad people always exist. Because bad people are automatically monsters. That they aren’t like us. It’s… ignorant, to look over the fact that they are people. That humans are capable of being heartless. We’ll always deal with bad people, because we arrogantly think that anyone dreadful is a monster, when they’re actually people… you know, like us.”

Dongwoo remembered feeling so sad all of a sudden.

“Why do I feel like you weren’t talking about what we were talking about?” He mumbled quietly, “Are you… still sad, Myungsin-ah?”

All the signs had been there—flashing red and screaming over Sungyeol’s head—but all Dongwoo did was watch it all unfold once again with a strong sense of familiarity. How could he just do nothing? Of course, Myungsin had been angry. 

Dongwoo had been forgiven the first time. They were all too young to know any better back then—with how Dongwoo had watched his own best friend fall into the state of no return, how he merely watched her brother lose a little piece of himself each day.

As much as Myungsin could smile and embrace Dongwoo’s presence all these years later, it sometimes left a bitter taste on her tongue. After all, Dongwoo had been a major trigger in Jungshin’s life—the reason Park Jungshin slipped by so quickly had been because him. The way they grew up in each other’s lives, the way the grew out of each other’s lives. The way Dongwoo’s mocking remarks and deriding laughter muffled between the walls of Jungshin’s bedroom had reached hers all those years back. How those things grew to be the only thing that mattered to Jungshin.

Young, confused, stupid and (eventually) alienated—Park Jungshin. He swallowed every word to heart. Because when those insults were spat by your best friend, how could you not? After all, who would know you better than the friend you spent your entire life with? Especially when that person was the most honest, the most friendly, the most happy person on earth… how could you not trust such an admirable person? So, Jungshin did just that.

If your best friend told you so angrily, that you were pathetic (“What the hell is wrong with you?”)  and weak for having such sad feelings, you’d believe him. If he answered your worldly questions (“Do you ever feel like life is too unpredictable, like it’s out of your hands?” “Hyung, when you look at other people, have you ever had the feeling they are all capable of murder?”) with a disapproving scowl, a shake of head, a seething remark or a turned back every single time, no doubt you started to retreat within yourself, worrying your sorry little brain out of its confinements. Believing that these ‘pathetic’ thoughts weren’t meant to be crawling inside your head—that there really must be something wrong with you.

(“Have you ever felt like…like your insides are different from everyone else’s, but then you don’t think you can let anyone know because if they find out they might do something really…really bad to you?”) Eventually, your best friend storming out of your life may just be the last heightened emotion, before numbness all but washed over your cold, cold body. The one person who had been the most sincere, the most tolerant, the most honest with your petty issues finally decided that he had had enough.

(“What the hell is all this, Jungshin? I thought you got better!”) All because of the thoughts that weren’t supposed to exist—they were all discovered one afternoon, within a worn spiral-bound note book; words carefully scrawled by a child, to the clumsily written sentences of a kid, to the neatly scribbled paragraphs of a teenager… and yet, naively hidden under your pillow like a habit of a child. (“Is this why you’ve been so ing quiet, huh? Confiding your girly issues in this- what, what do girls call this- a diary?” “To think I even came here to see you. You’re such a loser, Jungshin.”)

You weren’t supposed to hide, but you weren’t supposed to show either—you were supposed to just…not be like this.  (“I’m so ashamed. We knew each other even before Myungsin was born. Just- I’m embarrassed to even know I was friends with you!”)

The way Dongwoo followed Sungyeol around all the time, even if he still didn’t realise it himself, Myungsin was sure it was out of familiarity and some sort of desperation. Dongwoo hadn’t really changed much. But Myungsin was glad he no longer played that fatal trigger—the way he had with her brother. Even if she felt bitter, she was glad all the same.

Nevertheless, Dongwoo kept himself shallow and blinded from Sungyeol’s deterioration . But he knew, of course. It was denial. Why else did he feel obligated to check on him all the time? He was attracted by the sense of nostalgia (hopefully, guilt) Sungyeol gave off and watched the taller in that helpless way.

Too afraid to believe it might be happening, too frightened to ask in the hopes that if he didn’t say it out loud, it wouldn’t become reality.

Myungsin remembered telling Dongwoo those few months ago,

“I’m going to save him, hyung.”

And Dongwoo couldn’t help but feel as if Myungsin’s words carried much more meaning than it should’ve. But perhaps, that was how they should have been the first time—if only they had known it.

“I loved once.” Myungsoo stated to the quiet room from the sofa-bed where he had seated himself upon arrival. His hands were lightly clasped and his elbows rested themselves on each thigh. His black jacket hung itself on the head of the cream coloured, hospital-accommodated and immensely stiff sofa-bed.

Myungsoo really wasn’t that drunk—he knew well of what kind of person he was as a drunk; he had heard it many times. After his first year of debut, Myungsoo came to a decision with an entirely un-Myungsoo-like finality: He would not let himself drink to extreme intoxication. Kim Myungsoo was a loose tongue when drunk—a barking dog, was how Sungyeol had described him. 

It wasn’t for the fact that he came to hurt too many feelings of all living creatures (even nonliving ones, sometimes) within the proximity of earshot as a drunk. Myungsoo didn’t care much about that—things as fragile as feelings—feelings were too easy to bruise and things that were easily damaged were things Myungsoo disliked. Emotions were one of the slippery things that frustrated Myungsoo. The way he would have them within his control and then not. He preferred being in control, especially from behind the curtains—when nobody knew of the real person in power, not even the supposed leader—so he came to dislike such petty things which were beyond his control.

The only reason he made sure to refrain from complete intoxication was because Myungsoo didn’t trust himself. He had accumulated too many secrets within his idol life-span, they amounted to more than anything he ever collected as a normal person, so what if his drunkenly loose mouth decided to confess? Yes, so he was afraid. There wasn’t just the members—Myungsoo could care less about them, he was stuck with them no matter what anyway—so what if his stupid tongue slipped in front of a complete stranger? His entire life could be screwed and he wouldn’t even remember how exactly.

“I know you think I’ve never loved. It’s like you pity me… like, you think I could never understand what love is or something. I’m telling you because it bothers me, the way you look at me… sometimes,” Myungsoo continued quietly, his unfocused eyes continued to stare absently at the opposite wall over Myungsin’s hospital bed. “Your eyes are stupid. I have loved before.”

With tousled hair and all of his untidy appearance, the boy who claimed to have loved shifted his gaze onto the listening patient. But Myungsin didn’t utter a word; merely looked on with darkened eyes just as mindful with pale arms loosely hugged themselves around her two legs, bony knees tucked under her chin and her steady gaze tiredly tilted over them.

“It was during my last year of high school. There was this girl… I really, really liked,” Myungsoo explained as solemn as he could—there it was again, this desperate need to prove himself to Park Myungsin. The boy knew this sad little thing shaped to look like a female specie wouldn’t believe him that easily, if ever.

“It got to the point where I even considered marrying her… and by the time graduation loomed, I accepted that I loved her. I did everything, I even planned how I was going to propose… a giant teddy bear, a fake red rose that won’t ever die and even a stupid, cheesy serenade only an eighteen year-old dork could come up with.” 

Myungsoo smiled crookedly at the faded memory of half a decade ago, then sighed quietly. He’d like to believe the look in Myungsin’s eyes turned a bit hazier, softer, that her reticence dissolved—but not really.

“It didn’t happen for us. I couldn’t propose to her… I left.”

Myungsin shifted on the bed, laying the other side of her cheek on her knees tiredly—her gaze a bit more attentive. Myungsoo felt a sudden urge to continue (he could probably blame the alcohol later).

“The debut and training got in the way. My life got in the way, but I guess that’s how it is for everyone. It might’ve not worked out anyway, I mean… she loved cuddly things so she’d probably love the bear, but that dumb serenade would’ve ruined it.” Myungsoo concluded in a lighthearted manner, unwilling to sound pathetic since that would be, well, pathetic. After all, he had justified with himself pretty well. Right?

He became a frigging singer, he was no longer a nobody. With the kind of attention he didn’t even dare dream of, Myungsoo acquired it—almost. It was a wonder how all of this happened when he hadn’t done anything particularly difficult. All of it was just following orders from anyone who might’ve held power over his future. Then he was rewarded with money and fame and praises and an identity—amidst other people’s struggles to even make a name for themselves, Myungsoo had simply been handed one.

He was more than justified for the unfulfilled first love with a faceless girl whose name he may or may not recall. He did, however, remember having loved.

“The fake rose was the stupidest thing, out of all of that.” Myungsin eventually declared over the contemplative silence stretched between them. Myungsin blinked, was that all she had to say?

“What?”

“You should’ve gotten the hint, the moment you came up with having a fake rose represent your undying love. It wasn’t real.” She elaborated before sighing longingly at the hospital-provided pillow beside her. The girl glanced back up to find a scowling, groggy-looking boy in a plain black shirt and equally black pants, with his lighter-by-one-shade messenger bag tossed carelessly against the foot of the sofa-bed (which was also draped with a black jacket). “There’s no such thing as undying love, and using a fake rose in its place only proves the point.”

Myungsoo stared for a bit.

“You think too much.” He concluded.

“So do you,” Myungsin replied pointedly, and a little too solemn. “But it’s actually worse in Kim Myungsoo’s head since the thoughts inside are all wrong.”

Seriously? The boy slouched back against the sofa, arms crossed over his chest in a reproachful manner. He glowered like a petulant child.

“You don’t see me ending up in a hospital for it though, do you? I wonder which one of us has the case of too much thinking.” Myungsoo bit his inner cheek and raised his brow mockingly. This made Myungsin press her parched lips into one thin line of discontent. He took twisted satisfaction in that.

“I guess it’s because of people like you, that people like me end up, either, dead or hospitalised. Ever thought of that?” The patient bit back, looking more like a kid deprived of candy than anything. Nobody could have guessed they were debating serious worldly matters. Myungsoo might’ve barked out one laugh and easily won if he didn’t have anything better to say. Tonight was an exception.

“No, and I don’t plan to either. I can’t risk ending up dead or confined in a hospital,” This was probably the biggest lie Myungsoo had told today. “This is where we are different, Park Myungsin. I’m not going to allow myself to feel for other people, and you can’t make me—sympathy, empathy? Whatever. The only cure for people like you is to become just like everyone else. Once you rid yourself of too-human emotions you will be cured.”

They both knew this was true. Myungsoo wasn’t too proud of it, this fact, and he was sure Myungsin already knew. He just wanted to rub it in her face. That she can’t ever get better—he’d make it as clear as crystal—unless she was willing to compromise to the filthy ways of society. 

Compassion and petty things can go screw themselves, this world wasn’t a place for it. It frustrated Myungsoo because this damn child knew this all too well and yet still unwilling to change. He hoped she’d die—people like her always chose death over succumbing to society anyway. What difference would it make?

“Ya, Kim Myungsoo. What’s left of a human if empathy is taken away? Seriously, even monkeys are more humane than you’ll ever be.” She was on the verge of slipping away and never coming back. Myungsoo shouldn’t even be here in the first place. And after everything that had happened, with enough sense he would know not to ever come here. 

“You should go home, Myungsoo. Go deal with your unhealthy fascination for Sungyeol.” She sighed, resigned, not even bothering to keep her eyes open.

“My fascination for my second love is very healthy, you have no idea what you’re talking about.” Myungsoo’s annoyed tone rang in her ears. She could only wave her hand weakly, reclining into the comfort of the hospital sheets—she’d just sleep for a bit. Stupid manager, where are you? Get him out of here.

Despite herself, Myungsin made sure to remind him of an obvious fact he may have completely looked over. Either that, or he’d developed the weirdest case of Aspergers syndrome—fascination with Sungyeol, with emotions. Tch.

“Maybe you hadn’t realised this, but Sungyeol isn’t one of your kind; he’s one of mine. So stop playing, or he’s going to end up dead. Or as alive as I am.”

Something on the ground glinted. It caught Sungyeol's eyes when he turned a corner by the vending machine.

At the back of his mind he faintly registered the pointless bickering between Sungjong and Woohyun. It was early in the morning and Dongwoo still didn't know.

Sungyeol knew.

It must’ve been unexpected seeing from the way the others kept glancing worriedly at him. Especially their wistful leader, Sunggyu. Weirdly enough, Sungyeol didn’t react. And seeing from the way Hoya’s thick eyebrows shot off his forehead, made him feel he might actually be getting better. All thanks to them, and also to-

"Why are we at a hospital? Didn’t you guys say we were visiting Myungsin?" Dongwoo's groggy voice whined. Sungyeol pictured the older rub his eyes with his fist, like a child. They didn't tell him. Sungyeol had insisted they didn't, not until the older saw her himself. He was sure Myungsin could do it without letting Dongwoo throw a tantrum; patting the older on the head calmly, like an old lady stuck inside a girl’s body.

"We need to meet someone before that," Woohyun fibbed cautiously. Nobody else said anything. The voices got further away as Sungyeol bent down to pick up the coins on the ground.

"Sungyeol?" Sunggyu's voice interrupted his thought. 

The dumb coins kept escaping his clumsy fingers.

"You go ahead. I'll meet you guys in her room." Sungyeol looked up hastily, flickering a reassuring smile. Sunggyu warily nodded, and wheeled around to catch up with the others.

Somebody must’ve dropped them, it’d be a waste to leave them lying around right in front of a vending machine. Sungyeol cornered them into the foot of the vending machine, suddenly pricking his finger on a small tattered paper laying face down. What the heck is this? A wallet photo?

Did someone empty a frigging wallet or something? Sungyeol dismissively turned the pocket size photo around, expecting to find an unflattering portrait of the wallet owner.

His eyes widened, and his heart missed a really painful beat.

This was him. Him as in Sungyeol—him. This wasn’t even a portrait, he recognised this photo. Sungyeol felt faint, he kept this exact one by his bedside. It was the last picture they’d taken together—Sungyeol, Myungsoo, Sungjong. He was sure no one else had it in their possession apart from the three of them.

He ran his fingers gingerly on the faces. Could this be his? It couldn’t have been anyone else’s. Sungyeol was sure no one else kept theirs. But what was it doing here? And who the hell cropped Sungjong out? He was sure it was the exact same one he had. But this one, Myungsoo’s left arm was cropped out as result to having rested it on the maknae’s shoulders.

This copy couldn’t have been Sungyeol’s. He hadn’t done anything to the picture. Sungyeol might have had his heart broken or whatever, but he really wouldn’t have done this to Sungjong. That would be ill-wishing them. Okay, so Sungyeol may be guilty for having folded his copy but he would never dare trim anyone out. So—

Wait, didn’t Sungjong come here yesterday? But that didn’t make sense, why would someone like Sungjong even cut himself out? More so, why would Sungjong keep a photo of him and Myungsoo in his wallet? Nothing made sense.

SO WHO DROPPED THE DAMN PICTURE? Myungsoo? Sungjong? Or...? Oh and, my condolences to Park Jungshin. To the awesome readers who asked me about Dongwoo and Myungsin, my apologies to you too. It had been hard for me too, that was why I kept dragging it out.

It was hard for me to reveal this. So if Dongwoo or Myungsoo had disappointed you, please remember—everybody has a past. Me, you, your future-lover(s), your friends. With that in mind, know that everyone deserves to live, so you shouldn't tell anyone to kill themselves or die, even as a joke... words effect people very differently.

As a sorry gift, I've decided to be less stingy with my playlist:
Wind, You — Sung Si Kyung (from this chapter)
Man — Daybreak (from chapter 14)
Two Hearts — Daybreak (from chapter 14)
You Don't Know Me — Lena Park (from chapter 15)