Part 26 ⧫ Irreparable

ir·rep·a·ra·ble

/iˈrep(ə)rəb(ə)l/

adjective

(Of an injury or loss) Impossible to rectify or repair.

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Seeing that phoning Baekhyun did more damage than not -- even if it told me he was still alive -- I couldn’t help but feel down. All the pressure of doing good on finals, of looking out for someone who happened to be my (half) boyfriend -- were we still dating after this? I wasn’t sure, but that wasn’t even the least of my worries -- all that was beginning to cave in on me -- if it hadn’t collapsed already, then it was bound to very soon -- and my head was physically throbbing. Despite trying to act cheerful around the dinner table with my grandma, she was keen to catch on.

“Iseul,” she said over dinner the following day after the phone call, staring at me quite intently. I didn’t have the energy to even feel frightened by what she was going to say, but inwardly, I was still slightly terrified.

“Yeah?” I replied, poking a chopstick at the rice. My appetite had mysteriously disappeared into oblivion, which I never knew could happen. I couldn’t help but dwell on the coldness in Baekhyun’s voice, like he didn’t care. And it still hurt now -- it hurt unconsciously when I wasn’t thinking of it, and it hurt even more when I was thinking of it. There was no escape either way, and whenever I tried not to think of it, it just made me think of it again. Did he care? It was the question I had been consecutively asking myself for every past hour, and I still hadn’t come even close to a conclusion.

“You might as well spill,” my grandma said, making me almost fall out of my seat.

“Huh?”

She smiled dryly. “Byun Baekhyun, his name is, right?”

My chopstick froze halfway to my mouth. “What?”

She didn’t look the least bit fazed, just gave me the same smile that made me wonder if I was grounded for ten years. Maybe more. How in the world did she find out? I had never told her about Baekhyun, nor had I mentioned anyone in my class to her, as a matter of fact. As far as she knew, Jihyun was my only friend.

Instead of making up an excuse like I normally did, the only words that came out were, “How? When?”

My grandma laughed -- laughed, laughed -- I couldn’t even remember the last time I had heard her laugh -- laughed, actually laughed, and I almost dropped my chopsticks. She put hers down onto the table, folding her hands in her lap, an old fashioned gesture that she used to do when my parents were still alive.

“I used to give the kid piano lessons,” she said, and there was a tinge of sadness in her voice now. “Does he still play? Out of everyone, he was the brightest, most talented child I taught. I couldn’t go on teaching after… after your parents died, and I haven’t heard from him since. But I did hear about his parents.”

I blinked. “But how…?”

“I saw him, when he came home with you.” Her smile was once again dry. “I’m old, but I’m not deaf. I could hear you talking in the kitchen with a boy, Iseul. He’s changed so much -- but he’s a split image of his brother, when Baekbeom was his age.” She tilted her head. “He has a good heart, Baekhyun.”

The guilt, all the worry, the tiredness from sleepless nights all came crashing at the moment. I could feel my vision blurring and it took all of me not to cry. “I’m sorry,” I finally managed. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I wanted to help him but I didn’t know how, and the past weeks have been so stressful and I’m tired and I feel terrible and…”

Somehow, the whole story began spilling out, from when I first met Baekhyun to the last phone call I had made with him, the one that had been plaguing me for what seemed like forever, even if had only been one day. My grandma listened patiently, not saying anything, and for once, it felt nice to spill everything out to someone who wasn’t going to turn to me with a judging eye, or give me advice that I could in no way follow.

She didn’t make any irrelevant comments when I finished, nor did she contradict me. The only thing she did was get up from her chair, giving me one last smile at my final question: what do I do?

“Sometimes there aren’t any right choices to make,” she replied. “Just the choice between bad and worse. But when it comes to the time, you’ll know what to do. You’ll know what’s truly the right choice to make, and the best way to do so.”

***

“Do you think Baekhyun will show up for finals?” Jongin asked worriedly, looking over at Kyungsoo and I over the rim of his textbook. “Like, if something did happen to Baekbeom like you and Chanyeol hyung said, I understand why he’s gone, but if he doesn’t take the exam at all he’s screwed for university. To think he was getting better. And none of us can contact him either. Yeol hyung went to his apartment yesterday, but either he was refusing to open the door or he wasn’t there. And he’s not missing either -- I’m pretty sure he’s just ignoring us. And he’s eighteen -- so technically speaking an adult, so it’s legal.”

I heard Kyungsoo mutter something along the lines of ‘adult, my ,’ but I wasn’t quite sure if I heard him correct anyways.

I blinked, thinking of the phone call he picked up. Baekhyun was in no way in danger -- at least he shouldn’t be, unless he decided to do something rash -- but we couldn’t just call the police when I knew he was technically alright. But still…

“I phoned him a day and a half ago,” I managed before I could think better, and Kyungsoo and Jongin’s heads snapped in my direction. “And he picked up.” I had one horrible problem, I realized. I didn't think then speak, I thought and spoke at the same time, so it was completely unfiltered.

Jongin exhaled loudly. “Well, we know he’s okay. If we can find the hospital Baekbeom is at, then maybe we can find him too. What did he say to you?”

Hesitantly, I recounted the conversation, even though explaining it in detail felt like the reopening of a wound. Kyungsoo and Jongin listened intently, and for once, Jongin made no comment about anything for ten seconds straight. Kyungsoo looked just as miffed, his eyebrows furrowed. “When people tell you to leave them alone, there’s two things; they either mean it, or they actually want you to talk to them,” Kyungsoo concluded in a thoughtful voice, which I felt didn’t suit our conversation at all. “I tried to phone Baek about half an hour after you did -- and he didn’t pick up mine. I doubt it was really because he was gone. And I can vouch that Baekhyun really just wants someone to… comfort him. To tell him it’s going to okay, even if those words are lies.”

“But we don’t know where he is,” Jongin added in. “Unless someone is willing to camp out at his front door until he comes out, which he’s bound to do, right?”

At that, Kyungsoo went silent again, mouth moving silently, almost in a prayer.

“Iseul,” Jongin continued, “Have you tried to phone him again since the last time? Can you phone him again? Maybe he’ll pick up again this time too?”

I didn’t tell Jongin that I hadn’t tried phoning Baekhyun since he had snapped at me and hung up -- nor did I say that I was too scared to. But in reality, it was the sad truth -- I had put my hurt in front of everything, and pressing the call button again was something that had become impossible for me to do the last couple days. But admitting that fact cost pride, and I doubted I had any more pride to spare anymore. So instead of rejecting him, I pulled out my phone and handed it to him without an explanation or a answer. “You do it,” I managed.

He took the phone.

Three tries were all unsuccessful, and at the last try, I was beginning to feel more miserable than I had at the first try.

It hadn’t helped when the librarian had walked over, threatened to kick us out for talking, and whacked Jongin not-too-gently over the back of his head with her scroll of papers.

***

On Saturday, Chanyeol showed up at my front door.

I was in the midst of studying (or more like, staring at the page of my textbook and pretending I was studying), and due to the normally small amounts of visitors (which none were mine anyways), I didn't bother to answer the door, as my grandma was doing so. There was a slight creak as the door swung open, a moment of silence, and then my grandma surprised voice. "Who are you?" she asked.

I frowned down at the textbook. Had someone gotten the wrong address?

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