unedited, 2.8k

“Someone important should die today.”

Sana knows the line doesn’t have anything to do with her, but she can’t help but flinches. She watches as her father fumbles with the remote control and then sits beside her on the couch.

He grabs a handful of popcorns from the bowl on her lap. “My bet is on the pregnant lady.” He says between mouthful and Sana flinches again.

She decided to go back home for the weekend. She’s going to set up an appointment for abortion next week and before she does that, she wants to see her old man. Not to say she’s going to tell him. She’s just really wanted to spend time with him. And now she’s kind of regret going home. She’s been jittery and on edge since the moment she walked in, afraid she’s going to give something away or saying something suspicious.

If her father finds out, someone important and pregnant who should die today would be her.

She focuses on the tv, watching as a zombie reaches for a man’s collar and drags him.

“Who’s your bet?” He asks, throwing a few more pieces of popcorn into his mouth.

“The baby.” She tosses out without thinking and flinches again as her own words sink in.

Her father laughs. “That’s a terrible choice, Sana.”

She knows he’s joking. But she can’t block the words from penetrating her guilt-laden heart.

He adds, “But then again, I’m betting on a woman and an unborn. I guess I’m worse.” He grabs another handful of popcorns, completely not turn-off by the sight of blood splattering in the screen.

He wants to kill the pregnant woman. She wants to kill the baby. He has no idea how realistically correct the order is.

Sana sighs, suddenly feels tired. But then again, she always feels tired these days. “Dad, I’m beat. I’m going to sleep.”

“That’s early . . . but okay.”

She doesn’t move, though. She sits and watches his face for a moment as his eyes zero on the tv, mouth forming an O before he grimaces. When he does that, his face wrinkles, reminding her of his age. Her father is just forty-five. He was a young man when they had her which is tragic, because when her mother gave birth to her, complications happened and she died. So at the age of twenty-five, he became a single father. Imagine having to father and mother at that age, all the while having to accept the loss of his wife. But despite all that, he has been the best parent and in his series of failed attempts to fill the role of a mother, Sana won’t ask for anything better.

And here she is, betraying his trust and keeping thing from him. Feeling tears pricking in her eyes, she scoots closer and throws her arms around his neck, causing him to slightly choke. “Dad, I’m so sorry.”

He chuckles, patting her arm. “It’s okay, baby girl. I can watch it alone. I’ve been watching this alone, you know.”

He doesn’t even know what she’s talking about. The thing about fathers is that, they are not nosy. They never really ask.

He kisses the top of her head. “Now go to sleep. If the zombie kills the baby, I’ll let you know.”

Too bad she can’t return the favor.

Sana rolls to her stomach, and then she remembers it’s not just a stomach anymore, it’s a sack, so she quickly rolls to her back. She rubs her still-flat stomach, trying to feel a connection. None. Nada. Nothing. She probably feels more connection with the burger she had for dinner. Which is probably good, because then she would have less qualms to abort it.

See, she’s twenty. For some people, twenty is not too early to become a mother. But the thing is, she can’t mother. She has no single idea on how to do it considering she has no mother figure to look up to. And that leads to another thing. What if she dies too? She can’t leave her dad alone, it would be a repetitive history to him. Sana is rarely sad about her mother—only more to the idea of having one—but her dad is faring much, much worse. For as long as she lives, he never dates anyone. She tried to set him up with her teachers, not because she wanted a mother, but that old man really needs company. He told her to stop one day, because her mother brought his heart along into the grave and he decided to just leave it there. It was heart-breaking, so imagine if she ends up dying while pushing out a baby too. It would kill him.

But that . . . if he doesn’t kill her first for getting knocked up.

It feels wrong to keep the baby. It feels wrong to get rid of it. It also feels wrong to keep it and get rid of it later.

What even is good?

She tosses and turns for another hour, staring up at the ceiling as if there’s a solution written in white cursive letters on the white ceiling and she could only read it if she stares long enough. She thinks of Nayeon, her roommate slash bestfriend. When she has a problem, she will groan to the sky and yell, God, what did I do to deserve this? Sana can’t ask the same because one, she’s atheist, and two, who’s going to answer anyway?

Is she rambling? No, she’s not rambling because she’s not talking.

She turns to her side and grabs her phone. Maybe she should yell at Mingyu just because she can. If there’s anything good out of this, it would be the chance to make him suffer and drag him along into this pit of agony.

She scrolls her phonebook and praying Mingyu still uses the same number. The line is connected after three beeps.

“Sana?”

She skips the greeting entirely and groans, “Goat, what did I do to deserve this?”

He’s quiet for a beat and then laughs. “Hey, baby bird. Is this a drunk call? Oh , wait, you can’t drink!”

“Exactly. But now that you remind me of it, I feel like I could really use a drink right now.”

He’s quiet again. The sound of wind whips through the phone line. “Where are you?”

She groans again. She doesn’t know why she needs to groan. She just groans because she can. “Home.”

“Home?”

Sana rolls to the other side. What is this? A late night talk? “Yes. And I want to yell. And groan. And bite someone. I’m just so restless I feel like I can eat a person like a zombie. Not that I want to be a zombie but I just want to eat someone. But like a zombie eats someone. And if I can eat you, that would be great.”

Sana thought he would fight her immediately and so then, she would get an excuse to yell and groan and mentally bite him. But he’s quiet, too quiet for a Kim Mingyu. Sana could hear a squeak, like rusty swing, and the sound of wind goes breezier. She wonders where he is at this hour. A playground? “Where are you?” She asks.

“Out. Home. But out.”

And then Sana hears the crackling sound of aluminium. “You’re drinking.”

He’s quiet again and then she hears a tossing and dumping sound. “Beer.” He says.

There’s a hint of guilt in his tone. It dawns on her at that point, while she’s wallowing, Mingyu has his own distress to deal with too. There’s difference. Her suffering is mostly physical. His is emotional. She can’t drink it out. He can.

And when he talked in that tone, Sana realizes it’s unfair.

And that’s not because he gets the little privilege. Booze is majorly why she’s pregnant anyway. She probably won’t touch it out of horror for a good while.

Sana knows this is mostly about her. But Sana also knows that she’s not alone. Mingyu is not her fan, but he offers his support nevertheless.

What unfair is that, she doesn’t return the favor.

“You can drink, though.” It’s pretty sad that he has to seek for emotional support in liquid, something that is not even solid.

“You can’t. So, I won’t.”

There’s a tiny little particle in her chest that pops and melts when he just—Sana groans—when he just easily, giving in his privilege like that in what she thinks is his stupid way to match her suffering. They never match suffering. Before, they would do anything to let the other suffer more.

“You can, Mingyu. Don’t be stupid. You get the booze card. Use it.”

“I won’t.” He presses. “And besides, I already throw them all away.” Simultaneously, they both sigh, but for different reasons.

He’s quiet again. Sana is tempted to hang up after about six seconds (she counts) of silence because clearly, calling him is a bad idea. Now, she’s even more restless.

“Are you in bed?”

“Yes.”

“What are you wearing?”

“What are you trying to do, Kim?”

“Well, technically, I can’t do anything to you. What are you wearing, Minatozaki?”

What is this? A late-night phone ? Sana frowns at the sudden turn of conversation but she answers him anyway. “A mismatched pajama because my dad can’t do laundry. My bottom has pizza, my top has frogs.”

“Damnnn, baby, that’s hideous.”

Yes, it is a late-night ‘phone-’. “Are you trying to phone- me with my dad under the same roof?”

“What are you wearing? What color?” He ignores her question.

Sana her top lip. Frankly, she goes commando when she sleeps. But he doesn’t have to know that. “Granny . color.”

“Holy . You’re killing me. That’s so revolting.”

For a moment, she doesn’t remember this is Mingyu she’s talking too. Just two weeks ago, she planned a sneaky way on how to accidentally slip needles in his lunch noodles. And now she’s giggling because he’s . . . well, he’s not funny but he assumes he is and so, she decides to give out supports. That’s why she giggles some more. For support.

“Are you touching yourself?” She asks, trying to sound seductive by lilting each syllable.

“I’m my hair. Are you touching yourself?”

“I’m ing my tops.”

“Jesus. Keep going.”

“Are you your hair faster now?”

He laughs. “Yeah. Are you topless now?”

“Yes. Now I look even more edible. Because the frogs are gone, and I have pizzas on me.”

He laughs even harder. “God, you’re stupid.”

“Ah, you’re done? Damn, I’m not even close. You’re at this. Please don’t ever phone- anyone again.”

He grins, she can hear it. Contagiously, she can feel a curve forming on her lips too.

“So. . .do you still want to yell? And groan? And bite something? And eat someone like a zombie?”

Now she gets it. He was changing the topic to help her unwind her edges. Well, he’s not then. Because after the intense phone-, she finally feels her mind relaxes. “No.”

“Good. But I have a feeling this is not going to be the last time you’re going to drunk-call me.”

She yawns. “Most likely. But I also have a feeling this is not going to be your last attempt to phone- me.”

“Damn straight, baby bird.”

So, she’s still a baby bird. Isn’t she a mommy bird now? “By the way, I’ve been thinking. . .”

“Wow, really? Congratulation! You have a brain after all.”

“You’re a nightmare, do you know that?”

“I know. I’m a nightmare dressed like a daydream.”

“Did you just quote Taylor Swift?”

He laughs. “So, what is it that you’ve been thinking?”

Sana rolls to her stomach, and then remembers it’s not a stomach anymore. It’s a sack. She turns to her side. “If I tell my dad, would you kill me?”

“That, if he doesn’t kill me first.”

“Right. Then, we’re not telling?”

“It’s up to you, Sana. Whatever you want to do, that's your choice. And he’s your dad, he’s your deal.”

“You don’t mind? He’s going to kill you first, you know.”

“I know. But someone has to die. I’m the father. Fathers should die first.”

But in her case, mother died first. “Does your mother know?”

“Not . . .”

Structurally, there will be a yet coming. She can hear it the way he drawls. She waits for more than ten seconds, she counts and loses it when her eyelids are getting heavier so she gives up and hangs up.

She closes her eyes and thinks of one last thought. The baby won’t happen, but maybe a friendship would. And seeing how strangely this progress to, maybe being friends with Mingyu isn’t so bad.

Her phone rings again. His name is on the screen. Frowning, she presses Answer. “What is—“

“I’m calling again so you know what it feels like if someone just suddenly hangs up on you.” And then he hangs up.

He’s the one who stopped talking! Or was it her?

She growls at the blank screen and gives it one particular finger.

Yeah, the possibility to become friends looks really good from here.

“You are like . . . a male version of catlady. A catman.” Sana comments as she watches her father feeds his cats—three of them—breakfast the next morning. “It’s so not cool.”

Her father stands up from squatting and pivots, making a face at her. “Did you lady just say I’m not cool like y’all kids these days?”

He actually said y’all. “Whatever you think cool is, dad, it’s not that.” Sana rolls her eyes and continues eating her cereals. It’s her second bowl. Good thing fathers never ask.

He starts waving his hands, making hip-hop moves. “The cats chose me, uh, I can’t kick them out, yow.”

“Dad, I’m leaving the house now.”

The guy laughs. He takes the seat in front of her. While Sana is clearing her bowl, he starts relaying the story of how the smallest, yellow-fur cat came. Showed up one night, demanding to be let in, napped, and demanded to be let out the next morning like an . And then it suddenly became a ritual until he realized the cat had basically moved in.

Sana smiles. From his outward appearance, no one would guess her father is a cat person. Which is true. He’s a dog person who just happens to have cats. Like he said, the cats chose him.

Which brings up a thought. “Dad, are you pro-life or are you pro-choice?” Knowing her dad, she voted on pro-life. The old man talked about his deep feelings a lot and he could just stare at a spoon and started to relate it with life. Sana thinks he developed the sap philosophy since her mother died. He cares about living a lot . . . at least in real life. Take the cats for example.

“Pro . . . what?”

“Pro-choice or pro-life.”

He frowns. “The are you talking about?”

Sana sighs. She tries not to appear shaky for the topic by squaring her shoulder and clenching her fists on her lap. “It’s um . . . okay, it’s about abortion. Pro-life is for those who against abortion. Pro-choice is those who won’t dictate what women can do or can’t do with their bodies. So, what are you?”

He rubs his chin in brushing beard manner—which he doesn’t have, by the way. He stares into nothing, his eyes narrowing. “Where is this question coming from?”

Sana holds her breath. Afraid she would give away anything away, she stacks up the bowls and walks to the sink. “Well, it’s for research.”

The kitchen goes silence for a while. Sana’s hands are shaky as she arranges the bowls into the dishwasher. What if her dad suspects? What if—

“Speaking without religion point of view, I would say I’m a pro-choice. I mean . . . pregnancy scared me after what happened to your mom. Even if she’s still alive right now, woman with big bellies looks too delicate and fragile for me. If I could, I would wrap them in bubble wrap and put them in a cupboard so they don’t have to move.”

Sana stands there, still holding her breath. She wonders if her father knows, would he still be that protective or shoots her right away?

“But emotionally—morally—I think I’m more to a prolife. Which is ironic if you think about it.” He chuckles. “I get excited everytime zombies kill people. Oh—talking about it, last night episode, no one important died. I’m going nuts!” And he starts blathering about The Walking Dead, effectively changing the topic.

Sana releases the pending breath. That’s all she needs to know. That even though her father is more to a pro-life, at least it’s not all there is. He’s pretty much team Mingyu if you think about it.

She sighs. So who’s going to be Team Sana?

Oh right, Mingyu is.

Her almost-friend.

a/n i swear if i'm not too busy, this story could have 5-6 chapters already by now gahh

and i also need black-hair Mingyu's icon

thanks for reading <3