Military

N sees red as he slowly welcomes sight to his glossy eyes. As the white surrounding comes into focus, he spots the blood-red gladiolus perching on the table in front of him. He sits up on the squeaky bed and in a sharp breath of antiseptic. He moves his arm and tugs the IV tube towards him. The equipment clinks, but no one walks in to check on the patient. He is already admitted to the hospital from fainting in the military training after only three months. Images of wounded soldiers pass in front of his eyes, their lives are melting faster than candles. Pressure bubbles in his chest and he wants to scream when the tears do not surge forth. He gulps in a deep breath. I have gone through worse. The scandal was the worst thing that he had gone through when the him and the world turn their backs on one another. In fact, he is still suffering through the consequences. 

The only other hard time that he could think of was his days of training to be a singer. He might be a gifted dancer, but singing had been foreign to him. There was a song called Higher Than Me that used to trip him over with notes sitting on the high bar. That one note that he could never reach taunted him on the recording room’s ceiling. Hongbin stomped on his foot once so he could scream out that note. N retaliated by punching his arm. N breaks out laughing and tears finally spill over. 

Kicking off the scratchy blanket, N crawls towards those flowers and takes them out of the vase. He hugs them close to his chest. He is drifting to a conscious dream.

The dream comes like a real life inviting him back to a certain time where things were simpler. N’s biggest worry was debuting as a singer, dancing on the stage for a million of people that would hear him at one point of their life. Before his dream would come true, N in many deep breaths and gritted his teeth before he spun another routine in the sparse playground. Then he trudged home after a gruesome day running in circles, training for a better life. At the end of the day, N would be back to his hopeless artist. 

N’s dream drifts deeper into his lost memories when he was living with Hongbin, a man without dreams. On top of a few awkward bathroom's run-ins, Hongbin and Hakyeon got by the days like dog and cat. 

In the long nights, Hakyeon was the only one wide awake. He lied facing Hongbin's bed, away from the ghosts of the paintings. Their still shadows were effective enough for his heart to pick up speed. The rustling on the mattress was also not helping his hyperactive nervous system.

“Go to sleep,” Hongbin’s alert voice sliced through the eerie air. “No one wants a fat panda for an idol.” 

“I’m not fat,” N said.

“Your eye bags are enough to scare the ghosts away, so go to sleep.”

Some more rustlings.

“Why aren’t you sleeping?” N asked. “Something’s bothering you too?”

“You are bothering me.”

“What did I ever do to you?” N had not intended to sound more hurt than he actually was. “I just bit you that one time. Couldn’t you take a tiny bite?” Great. Being a whiny baby could be another reason why N should be a hobo.

The night was falling asleep. N thought that Hongbin was sleeping too.

“Why don’t you get a real job already?” Hongbin’s voice caused N to jump out of his skin. “You’re still young. You can start over and live a good life and be with your family. Don’t you miss them? Things don’t have to be hard for you anymore. No more morning calls. No more injuries. No more exhaustion. No more restrictions. No more uncertainties. No more rejections.”

“No more adventure. No more hope. No more life.” N mimicked rather mockingly. He thought he was a ing poet?

More rustling. N felt Hongbin’s breath in his neck. He shivered. Hongbin had leant over the edge of his bed and stoop as low as N who was lying on the floor. It seemed like any hint of sleep had left them. “This isn’t ‘life’ to you? Life is so much easier after leaving the trainee life behind,” he said into his ears. “You can finally rest. You can go on a vacation. You can do whatever you want. No one can tell you otherwise. You’re so stupid, going after something impossible to have.”

N did not flinch in front of Hongbin’s passionate speech. He was not to give into his tyranny. He stared squarely back. Their faces were an inch apart in the veiled darkness. “What about you? Are you free? Are you happy?"

"You're being selfish. Why would you want your family to see you suffer in exchange for what you want?"

"My family isn't suffering because of my dream, neither am I."

N heard a sharp intake of breath. "You don't know that," Hongbin said.

"Are you happy?" N asked. “I doubt that you’re happy in your tiny cubicle waiting for six o’clock everyday.”

“This is how life supposed to be. Dancing is not a career. It’s just a hobby - a small part of the bigger picture. Why can’t you see that?”

“Your life is so boring. I’m dying here.”

“I’m dying too from watching you.”

Hongbin withdrew into his bed. Watching N made him die? What was that suppose to mean?

N’s thoughts were swimming under the surface. He recalled his normal day living here. Every morning he would wake up to Hongbin's voice. His voice was husky whenever he yelled at him. N would come back home after a long day of part-time works to the warm steamed rice and the scent of lemon. N felt like crying and laughing as he munched on the delicious food that Hongbin had prepared for him. The meals could usually feed a family of four. Hongbin would then pester him some more for coming home late. N would fight back and laugh at his insults. He would try to do the dishes afterwards. Hongbin would tell him to scram off or else he would break his arms before he could kill his plates. N appreciated the comfort that Hongbin provided him in his small apartment. N asked himself if he would ever miss Hongbin’s glare or his concern for him when he eventually left this place.

That was the topic that N and Hongbin skirted around. Hongbin would ask him when he would leave, but N knew that he didn’t mean to kick him out. N would give him a shrug, because N wasn’t sure when or if he really wanted to leave. Hongbin was right. He was getting comfortable with the dull rhythm called “normal life”.

N rose from the floor. His left arm hung over Hongbin’s bed. Hongbin’s wavy feathery hair was there for him to . He gulped at the sight of his broad warm back. He grabbed a handful of his lush hair and pulled hard.

Hongbin flipped and yelped in pain. He slapped at any parts of N he could grab hold of. “Are you crazy?”

N curled up into a ball to protect his biggest asset from Hongbin’s angry fists (he had an ambition of being the visual of a boy group after all.) N flung his arms around blindly to evade his fierce attack, which only made Hongbin madder. Before they were aware of what’s happening, they were engaged in a fist fight in the middle of the night. Hongbin abandoned the soft bed for a better punch. N buried his head in Hongbin stomach to avoid his fury kung fu. He grabbed onto his back and whined, “Please. Let’s fight tomorrow. You won.”

Hongbin’s last slap on his back stung, “Yah. Aren’t you letting go of me?”

N’s breathing was slow and steady. His tired breathing soon became snores. His skinny arms still rested around Hongbin. Hongbin draped his right arm over N. He tapped N’s relaxed back following the rhythm of his ribcage.

There were no howling nor hissing disturbing N’s sleep that night.

N’s conscience floats to the surface; he needs to breathe. Red blooms on his retina. The petals of the gladiolus are wrinkled against his white slip. The edge of the flower are browning; the fragrance lingers. N sighs in relief; it is still alive. He shuts his eyes. He doesn’t fall asleep this time. He vaguely remembers what happened in one of those nights when he failed to sleep in Hongbin’s haunted house. 

The dusty white powder marked the death scene in the middle of Hongbin’s apartment. He was glaring at N like any other mornings. However, today N was wavering under his accusation. He smelled blood in the air. N would be the next victim.

“Is this your revenge?” Hongbin asked. “Didn’t you ruin enough of my life already?”

N’s gaze fell upon on the remnants of the head. The marble nose, lips, eyes were detached and shattered. He was scared of Hongbin’s tears so his eyes never left the corpse.

“Why do you care anyway?” N said. “You were the one who broke it.”

“What did you just say?” Hongbin said. His face turned beet red. N suddenly feared that he would have a heart attack and died with the statue.

N took a calming breath. “You threw it at the ground last night. You broke it.”

Hongbin grabbed his collar. “I didn’t. Stop lying.” N could see Hongbin's veins expanded under his skin at a close distance.

N fumbled for his phone in his pant pocket. He tapped on the video he had filmed last night. “See? This is you. This is the sculpture. This is your hands. Bang. You broke it.”

Hongbin slowly released his captive. He clutched on the side of his head. Clearly, he did not remember waking up last night. He did not remember working on the sculpture. He did not remember smashing his hard work into pieces.

“I’m not scared of your ‘haunted’ house anymore. The weird sound was just you making sculptures. Why did you break it?”

Seeing Hongbin slumped onto the ground stirred something inside of N. The defeated figure resembled someone he once knew. Hongbin acted as if he had unknowingly murdered his own child. He had forgotten or neglected his child, but in the end, his love for it was not a lie. N risked his life picking up one of the stone pieces. He wrapped Hongbin’s hand around it. “You love being an artist as much as I love the stage. Don’t let a piece of you go.”

Hongbin ran his thumb over the jagged lines and the weight of the small piece. It pierced through his skin. Art intruded his normal life. Unlike other people, Hongbin’s hands were always stained with colourful oil paint or caked with hard mud. His hands were dry by various chemicals. His hands were different from N’s hands.

Hongbin let go of that broken piece. The sound of it crashing to the floor was emphasized in the still room.

“I have loan sharks going after me. I can’t put it back together.”

N straightened his back, making Hongbin appeared very small hunching on the ground. N faced one of his unfinished paintings. He was suddenly overcome with an unfair rage. Before he knew it, N had already crashed his foot through the nearest canvas. He grabbed a cup of hot tea off the table and dumped it on another painting. He snatched a handful of Hongbin’s sketches and ripped them into tears. The room was without Hongbin’s fury. It was filled with his hushed tears.

N dragged his packed suitcase under Hongbin’s bed. He would quit being stuck in this endless loop with Hongbin. N did not want to be broken like he and lived for nothing. Leaving would be the last generous favour he could do for himself and the ex-artist.

Gladiolus, the flowers that bloom in the coldest season. The image of those flowers mix with Hongbin’s marble sculpture looks like blood-tainted snow---one day N will shatter like Hongbin’s sculpture and cut himself. ing idiot, I let you go so you can dance. Why are you lying around? he can hear Hongbin say. 

Never let a piece of you go.

Never. Never. Never let me go. 

When no one picks up the phone the first time, N should have known better than call for the second time. 

“Hi,” says N. 

The longest three seconds of his life suspends in the mid air between the wire. “Hi,” Leo replies.

Both of his hands tremble as he cradles the black phone. N tugs the speaker closer to his face than the cord allows him. He curls up in the cubicle within the two dividers that separate desperate voices and hearts of the soldiers. At times like this, they long for their homes. The changed men staying away will always expect that their loved ones will remain stationary like a familiar place that they can always go back to. Sometimes, they forget that their families, friends, lovers are people like them. Even places are dynamic, constantly changing, let alone people. Like the other soldiers, N hopes for the impossible.

“I lo-” says N.

“Don’t, N.” Leo cuts him short. “I don’t want to hear what comes after it.”

The soldiers might anticipate that people stay the same like time is frozen in the army, but really, only war wounds were the things that were certain. The old pain in N’s chest is suddenly as fresh as new. He threw his shield down in the face of his enemy and get shot in the chest. He watches himself bleed.

“Hey, I can’t really talk right now.” Leo’s voice is smooth and gentle like he is comforting a child who comes last in a race. Some bedsheet rustles in the background. Leo groans. The connection dies. The beeps resemble N’s flat heartbeat in the monitor. Nothing can revive it again.

N opens his palm. The dried petals of blue and yellow irises crumble a little. Irises are Hongbin’s favourite flowers. They are colorful like the paint he uses. Before N left, he crashed his foot through his unfinished painting of irises. Those paintings and irises representing his passion were all Hongbin had. These dried petals are all N has too. He asked Hongbin why he loved these flowers. He told N that irises encompass all wonderful things in the world---faith, hope, and passion. N had a whole world in his hand once, but carelessly, he stomped on it and let it die. He thought of Leo and his mindless whispers of “I love you”. It wilted too in his hands. He was a terrible gardener. N bundles into a ball on the floor. Tears are spinning behind his eyes but he reins them in. N rubs the petals with his thumb and forefinger. At least he still has the irises in his hands. If roses are dead, then he doesn’t need Leo anymore. If N sees Hongbin next time, he will ask him for irises’ seeds. He will watch his passion grow in the pot and dab his tears with it. His iris will outlive the rose. He doesn’t care if Leo will know. He’s already gone. 

May 14, 2014

Dear Hakyeon,

Do you remember our first time trying to skip our pre-calc class? We got caught at the gate as soon as the bell rang. We ended up doing hop-squats around the soccer field for fifty-laps. No ice cream for us. It was June. The sun beat our backs and we sweat like Olympic swimmers. “I’m going to die, Hakyeon-ah”, I told you. I was the first one to lie on the crispy dry grass after a lap. You stopped and looked back at me. You encircled your fingers around my thick wrist and pulled me up. I hauled you down to me instead. The smell of your mold gym shirt wafted towards me and we stayed lying together for a few seconds before you took a spot besides me. “Mr. Park is going to see us slacking off,” you said. “He’ll make us run a hundred laps.”

“We’ll run away,” I said. We saw each other then. We broke into toothy smiles. We heard footsteps and our teacher’s yelling. You picked me up off the ground and you ran around the field for one-hundred laps without tripping over your feet. We chortled as if a giant purple bunny chased us around. We laughed louder when we saw our teacher’s fat belly jiggled and his cheeks on fire. I wondered why he scampered after us and pulled his loose beige pants for all those years. Now I wonder why he ceased running after his students and decided to look after his fishing boat. 

I know why I am still running after you. 

Do you want to know me, Hakyeon?

We will go find him and ask.

Love,

Wonshik

N folds the letter in halves and shoves it back in the envelope. He gets out of the restroom stall and stalks back to his dorm room without meeting eyes with anyone. Once he returns to his bed, he locks the letter up along with all the other letters he received from his family, a few fans, a truckload of haters, Sungjae, and Wonshik. He lies flat on the hard cement block that serves as his bed. He imagines that he is on dry grass instead. It is the middle of May, so the room is stuffy enough for his pretend game. He shuts his eyes to search for the particular episode that Wonshik talked about, like he always did after reading some of his recent letters. He remembers the balding homeroom teacher through an unfocused lens. He recalls standing outside of the classroom because they yelled random things during classes out of boredom. They played rock-paper-scissor to pass time in the hallways. He remembers the smirk on Wonshik every time he won. He remembers chasing all the kids out of the playground so they could complain about Sungjae being an . He remembers they up to Sungjae because his dad was on the school board. He remembers their napping spot in the library’s basement. He remembers many more of Wonshik other than the hop-squats and cutting pre-calc class. N’s expression relaxes into a smile.

Ravi’s letter is still in his hand, slightly wrinkled, as if nothing was with N in the long cold night except for that piece of paper or memory. He thought he had Leo in his grip and music by his side, they both slipped away unnoticed. And it’s all his fault. The young Wonshik creeps up on him, catching up on his present. Wonshik and Hakyeon dance in his mind. Hakyeon’s dancing was always close to flawless. Even as an amateur, Hakyeon had learned to embrace the beat flowing into his veins. He had lifted an arm skyward, temptatively at first, then his dandy legs followed suit. His torso guided his hips and the rest followed. He bent his entire being towards the left, backward, right, and swiveled back up, like the strings of poplar tree sway gracefully on windy days. His twirl was more precise than a seamstress. His body tilted but Hakyeon was the master in complete control. There was no more audience. It was only Hakyeon in the universe. He was lost.

Wonshik lost. In oppose to Hakyeon’s natural grace, his steps were loud and demanding. His thrown arms were raw and powerful. His legs kicking under his upper body were bouncing with youth. There was zero pretense in the way he mobilized his limbs. He was indeed a young warrior fighting against gravity; fighting against air; fighting against Hakyeon. He was immersed in the audience as much as he was aware of his extravagant motions. Wonshik finished his break dance routine basking in enthusiastic cheer, but he lost, regardless of the crowd’s positive reaction. In his mind, Hakyeon was always the winner. “Good job, Wonshik,” Hakyeon touched his arm, congratulating his victory. Wonshik flung him away.

The young Wonshik has been haunting his dream lately, in the longest hours where nights never end in the barracks. His carefree smile and his untucked school uniform were signs that everything was alright. “I’d married you if no girls want you in ten years,” Wonshik told Hakyeon. The love letter rejected by some girl was immediately forgotten. They were both lambs. His words should be taken lightly as a joke. But for some reason, something warm bloomed in his chest instantly. Hakyeon believed him. 

They were young, competitive, but nonetheless happy. They were rivals. They were friends. Wonshik was all he had.

“Yes, I’d like to know you, Wonshik,” N whispers.

He has no idea how he would go back to the care-free day. 

He comes up to N’s bedside and slaps the beige parcel out of N’s hand. N balls up his fists. “Back off.”

“You’re going to hit me here?” The taller guy points at his own flat nose. “Or here?” he s his hip forward. The corner of his mouth hangs open. 

N bares his teeth and pulls back his right fist. He watches the other guy flinches. He expects blood to graze his knuckles but instead there are a pair of hands on his shoulders. N lowers his weapon that will combust and backfire. “Stop being immature.” It is the voice belong to the squad leader. “This is the army, not a ing teen drama.” 

The other guy glares at the leader before stalking off to his bed. N is about to thank him, but he beats him to it. “You dropped this.” He shows him a small white cardboard with some handwriting on it: You are stronger than your enemies.

“Cha Hakyeon,” N’s heart drops upon hearing his real name instead of a series of number, “we are a team, not enemies. You need to remember that when we are fighting a battle.”

N salutes him. 

A/N: Goodbye, Neo. Here's the two men's paths diverge. :/ Oh well~ Please comment and tell me what you understand so far or confused about, like or dislike, 'cause I'm ridin' in the dark rn. And I will upload more frequent and see if it's going to be better. 

And please sub and upvote if you enjoy the story :)

Your dreamer,

suzyelf