I watched Junho’s chest rise and fall slowly in his sleep, my mind deep in the thoughts that I hadn’t spoken yet. Pulling myself off the bed, I tucked Junho deeper under the blankets and then slipped out of the room. The carpet in the apartment was weird under my feet, different. There was no creak of floorboards, like at the farmhouse, and it wasn’t like stepping on ice. It was soft, and inviting.

   “You don’t actually buy into this, do you?” I heard MinJun say as I approached the kitchen, where he leaned against the large kitchen island in the center of the room.

   “Of course not,” Wooyoung shook his head, his lips and holding up his hand. “But I can’t help thinking what if . . . What if he’s right?”

   “You can’t make judgment calls based on a ‘what if’, Wooyoung.” MinJun said skeptically.

   The smaller man just shrugged. “I’m not doing that,” He glanced at me, finally noticing my presence and straightening himself up. “I’m just saying – scientifically speaking – he could, theoretically, be the most important thing to happen to humanity since . . . ever. He’s . . . the missing link to all the questions scientists have been trying to find since the very beginning.”

   Wooyoung nodded, looking at me like I was going to say something. I opened my mouth, but MinJun’s voice came first.

   “And actually speaking, he could just have a few screws loose.” MinJun rubbed his temples and then looked up at me. “Khun, I know you . . . You don’t believe him one hundred percent, no matter how much you play like you’re convinced. You’ve never been one to play into things like this . . . so what’s his actual story?”

   I bit my lip, hard. Looking at Wooyoung’s deflated expression before looking back at MinJun and sighing. “He stumbled out of the woods near my house in October – he was completely – and a little disoriented . . . I could tell just by looking at him, something happened to him . . . something bad, MinJun.” A pale look of dreadful understanding fell over both of their faces and Wooyoung just nodded while MinJun waited for me to finish, looking stoic and detached. “I figured you guys could get him into a hospital and run some tests . . . see if there’s anything wrong with him.” I said. “And also . . . find out who he is.”

   “He doesn’t remember anything from before?” Wooyoung inquired, and looked down at the surface of the countertop when I shook my head.

   “It sounds like some kind of post-traumatic disorder . . . Is ‘Junho’ even his real name?” I shook my head and MinJun stood up straight and let his hand fall onto my shoulder, resting there. “I see it a lot in abuse victim cases – or even victims of freak accidents . . . sometimes to cope with a loss, or instead of accepting a situation, people will make up bizarre stories and fantasy worlds and explanations as to why they weren’t put through such a traumatic pain.” I nodded as he spoke, getting a familiar twisting in my stomach that made me want to vomit.

   Just the idea of someone hurting Junho to the point of insanity, it made me cringe. “But you also have to consider the idea that, maybe, he’s got a clinical mental disorder . . . You don’t know anything about him.”

   “I know that I love him,” I said quickly, choosing to ignore the look on his face. “I love him . . . more than I’ve ever loved anything before.” I hoped to ignore the glimmer of betrayal in MinJun’s eyes, it was a fading disappointment, one that looked as if he had felt it so many times that he had almost become numb to it. But only almost.

   He moistened his bottom lip, an action I’d only known him to do when he was either deep in thought or irritated, often both. “Can I talk to him for a moment?” MinJun looked seriously at Wooyoung, who immediately pushed himself away from the counter top and excused himself from the room. The second the door to Wooyoung’s office closed down the hall, MinJun looked back at me and narrowed his eyes, before finally sighing and looking at the table. He looked weak, in that moment. Like he was broken.

   I watched the slender figure reach up into the cupboard and pull out crystal tumbler. He then went under the kitchen island and popped back up with a dark brown bottle, pulling the cork out of it and filling the glass halfway. I watched MinJun swash the contents of the cup around before taking a big gulp, the alcohol burned going down and even made his eyes water slightly. He set the cup down and let out another huff of air.

   “Why do you do this to yourself, Khun?” He asked, pouring more whiskey.

   I had expected these words; it was always words like these with him. Quiet pleas and tired wondering, questions as to why I was the way I was. He had never quite grasped the fact that he caused it, just as I never had the heart to tell him, simply because of how he looked at me. With consideration.

   “I don’t know what you mean.” I said after a brief silence while he drank and I watched him in pity. I didn’t want to feel this pity – this self pity – but it was there, and for the life of me, I couldn’t shake it.

    “You always fall for the wounded,” MinJun sighed. “And in the process, you get wounded yourself.”

   I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned against the opposing counter, staring at him and trying to just think clearly through the tension. “Junho isn’t some wounded dog.” I said, noticing the way his jaw tightened and knowing him enough to recognize the look on his face. “And you weren’t either.” I added quickly, before I could upset him.

   It was funny. Even though he wasn’t mine anymore, I still felt that same nervousness around him. The fear of saying something stupid, or making simply making him frown. I felt like he was going to judge me and then I’d never see him again. Absurd, right? That I could actually be afraid of losing him, even now, when he was already as lost as he’d ever be. Even though I knew I’d never get him back.

   “I felt like one.” MinJun’s stared off into that other world, that other time, where things were darker for both of us.

   “But you don’t feel that way anymore,” I tried to sound happy, thankful, but from the way he raised his eyebrow I knew that I wasn’t doing a good job. “That’s what matters.”

   “You sound bitter.”

   “I’m not.” I bluffed. He knew it, I knew it.

   MinJun called my bluff. “You’re gonna have to get over it, eventually.” I wish he knew how much those words stung me. But I also wished I could admit that he was right. And that’s the most difficult part. “I couldn’t stay there, Khun . . . I couldn’t be in that place every day. It haunted me for four years.” His sad eyes held that depth to him that had once captivated me, lured me in and took hold of my heart entirely, and never really let go. “I was reminded of him everywhere I went, Nichkhun . . . he was every trucker that came into the diner, every greasy farmer that called me ‘princess’ and tried to grab me . . . He was everything about that life that I wanted to forget, and I couldn’t do it.”

   I was hearing these words for the first time, for the first time, getting a chance to understand him more. It was like removing stitches that had finally healed enough, it was irritating and painful, but I was so numb to it after all this time that I couldn’t even wince.

   The warmth of a hand cupped my cheek and when I realized that my eyes were closed, I opened them to a sight I thought I’d never see again. MinJun looked at me, his bottom lip trembled as he parted his lips and inhaled silently. “I never thanked you . . .”

   A small smile curved one side of his mouth as I looked back at him, hypnotized by the look in his eyes. “For taking me away from that place.” He said, his little more than a weak murmur of emotion. “You gave me a life . . . I owe you so much – without you, I don’t know where I’d be. Thank you for that.” This was closure.

   This was that final page that, until now, had yet to be turned.

   I watched it in his eyes, as they grew lighter with his words. I felt it in my lungs, as I breathed in shaky, but strong, breaths. This was our closure for the lives we used to live; our last song to be played, in a final moment that we would ever spend together. Together. There would be no more after this, never again.

   My head leaned forward, resting against his from lack of strength anymore. “Then help me, MinJun.” I was honestly surprised with how steady my voice was. I was ready to accept him not being ‘in love’ with me. I just wanted to be happy too. “If you have any love left over for me . . . Please, help me.”