The laptop screen glares back at him, the brightness of it blinding his eyes within the darkness of his room.

            Jongin taps his fingers against the cool metal, his head overflowing with thoughts. Some a little irrational. Some highly implausible. Jongin tended to do this when he’s under a large amount of pressure. Overthinking.

            The strain caused by the weight on his shoulders multiplies in size when he moves his cursor to open a new tab, the search engine appearing before him within the blink of an eye. He really shouldn’t be doing this. It would be too weird, too stalkerish. But as of this moment, Jongin couldn’t care less. He unknots the tense off his hands and began typing.

            Kyungsoo.

            Possibly half a second after Jongin’s finger presses on the enter button of his keyboard, he becomes confounded by his own stupidity. ing hell, Jongin, there must be a million Kyungsoos in Korea, he yells at himself in his head.

            As expected, Jongin finds absolutely nothing. He should be disappointed, but Jongin had expected this.

            He had been truly idiotic to cling on to that faint glimmer of hope that he would find Kyungsoo again. Jongin leans his head back and glances up at the ceiling.

            He was close to giving up all hope of meeting Kyungsoo again. But he remembers something the songbird himself said to him during their car ride to his apartment – something that stuck with Jongin, along with the very few memories he has of him.

            “Life is full of unforeseen events and chance encounters. Some good, and some bad. But you move on, don’t you?” Kyungsoo’s voice sounds in his head, the softness in his tone so easily recognizable.

            And that, that statement that left Kyungsoo’s mouth – it keeps Jongin's remaining amount of hope, though small, flicker on.