When the family goes to the countryside for summer, Jongin doesn't follow.

  They don't let him know that they're going. Jongin wakes up that morning to the sound of pottering feet and rustling bags and scratchy whispers of "Hush, hush, quickly, we must go." He watches from the window as they load their luggage into the car and drive off, and it's funny how they were so secretive before because there was no need to be- they never look back.

  (He can't follow. They know.)

  All of a sudden, as he stares at the settling dust on the driveway, it feels as though something's been offset- as though the heavy weight of a car and five people was the anchor that kept the balance in this household devoid of love.

  He misses grandma and grandpa. How are they doing, all alone in the countryside? Do they still remember Jongin from so many years ago, even after he's stopped existing? If he were real, maybe they'd feel the same offset in the car, in the backseat that only sat three children, or around the round dinner table meant for seven. Before he disappeared, there were always eight people around it. Not anymore. Are they comfortable now?

  June is a lonely month because Jongin isn't comfortable. Not on his carpet littered with glass, not on his bed, not on the windowsill, not in Chanyeol's arms.

  He misses grandma and grandpa. They used to ask about him.