When the semester officially started, Jongup and I didn’t get to meet as often anymore - not that we were particularly attached at the hip in the first place. Despite having a roommate, with him usually crammed up in his room - except every so often to waddle awkwardly to the restroom with a hand pressed between his legs mumbling something about his bladder being ready to explode - it was almost like I lived alone. It was almost like having the whole house to myself. (I really shouldn’t be complaining.)

And that came with both its merits and disadvantages. For one, I could prepare for practices and be loud as I needed to be (not too loud, seeing as we did have neighbors still) without worrying about bothering Jongup in the other room. It was an advantage my same-major friends often grumbled I abused. On the other hand, it did get awful lonely eating alone on weekends when my friends from class couldn’t entertain me. Food didn’t taste any less good alone, but it just wasn’t nearly as fun competing for the last piece of meat.

I still saw him around every so often - besides when he was scrambling to take a piss -, more usually with his eyes closed than not. He'd see me lounging on the living room couch, staring blankly at the space - which still lacked a tv -, and attempt to start a conversation. "How's school?" He didn't have to, but it was well appreciated.

He was always so tired, walking around almost like a zombie since the first week we'd met, officially. That day had actually probably been the most active I'd ever seen him be - and all we did was sit around and talk. So I knew I probably should have shooed him off to catch up on precious sleep, but it was always so god damn lonely. I never missed out on the chance to talk, even if Jongup gave half dead reactions and ended up falling asleep only halfway through our conversation. It was the thought that counted, right?

Usually, by the end of our conversations, I’d be left with the task of carrying Jongup back to his room and tucking him into bed with a little coo. He was a lot cuter when he sleepily tried to claw his way into my arms than my usual visual of him trying to become one with the kitchen counter.

All-in-all, it was more often I’d find Jongup asleep or half asleep than fully awake. The most awake I ever saw him anymore was probably on Sundays when our clean up duty forced us together; though, I’d be lying to say I hadn’t caught him once or twice sleeping with his head dipped into the sink.

So it wasn’t much surprising to find him again knocked out on the kitchen table, probably waiting for me to get back so we could figure out something to eat.

Often times, on days I knew he’d be home, I’d bring back dinner from McDonalds nearby - turned out we were both a little too lazy to actually cook on a daily basis and left home cooked food for the more special events and days. Today wasn’t an exception. I wasn’t feeling like slurping down over-cooked noodles and it felt like a hamburger day to me, so why the hell not?

“Hey, you alive in there?”

From the front steps of our little one room apartment, I could make out my housemate’s hunched form and almost scary lack of movements - if I didn’t know he was sleeping, I might have panicked. And it was laughing that I pulled off my shoes and shed my clothes on the way toward the kitchen, leaving my scarf somewhere on the floor and my jacket over the back of the sofa.

He didn’t move - aside from the little ups and downs of his breathing, of course.

Odd, because normally, the smell of hamburgers and fries would have had him straightened up and almost shooting sparkles from his eyes. The kid had an obsession with fast food, but a particular for hamburgers.

“Hey, Jongup, you alright?”

My first instinct was to check for signs of breathing; because usually, that’s what you do when you find someone knocked out and unresponsive. He was breathing, so he wasn’t dead.

My next assumption was that he was playing with me, as he seemed to quite enjoy doing.

(He’d last told me that if you sneezed seven times in a row, you get an ; and I’d yet to figure out if this is true or not.)

But when I pulled him up by his shoulders and his head hung limply against his chest, something obvious was wrong. I might have started panicking here.

Jongup woke up somewhere between my dropping him back on the kitchen table and jumping over the sofa (hitting my shin against the coffee table) while trying to grab my phone from my jacket’s inner pocket. I’d almost dialed in 119, had it not been for him drowsily asking me if I’d finally returned from class. He didn’t seem to notice that I’d dropped him nor that his forehead had gone red from when he’d hit it against the table.

He was running a fever, a high one at that, and he didn’t seem to at all notice.

Either he was dumb or … dumb.

I shooed him off to bed with cold medication I’d luckily brought along from home and ran out to buy soup. Sure he’d still want his burger, but that wasn’t exactly the best of get-well-soon dinners, no matter how much he still wanted that burger - he was crazy. And I knew how lonely it was getting sick away from home - so said my lonely first year experiences - so I’d decided I was going to play mommy for the day.

“Jonguppie, are you feeling better?”

I came back to check up on him a few hours later after spoon feeding him soup. He was looking a whole lot better, though maybe a little dazed and drugged. He nodded the best he could with his chin tucked into his blankets and stuck a hand out for a lazy thumbs up.

And when I turned back to leave, he gave a little whine.

“Can you … can you stay with me?”

That probably wasn’t the best choice of my life, but who could say no?