~One month later~

"The war is one of translators – or more properly, translators’ philosophies." Robert Lautner gave his lecture on the Iliad. "When Homer composed his poem thousands of years ago, it was already an intensely artificial thing; as translators never tire of telling us, no ancient Greek ever spoke the ancient Greek that fills the lines of this epic and gives it such unmatchable power."

It had already been a month, but I still found it hard listening to him teach. I tried getting used to listening his voice, as if I knew nothing and everything was normal - but every time his eyes stopped to have a glimpse at me, I didn't know whether to look away (for what?) or to just shoot back a gaze (and why wasn't I brave enough to do so?)

"Psst, Mark," I felt Timothy nudge my elbow. "Hey, are you even paying attention?" 

"Y-yeah, sure I am." I answered after clearing my throat.

He snorted, "Oh yeah? What's he talking about?" he asked me as he twirled his pencil.

"The Iliad, duh." 

"Oh really? Mm-hmm," he smirked. "Be specific, what exactly is he talking about?"

"Er, chapter run-throughs I guess. Isn't that it?"

"Wrong," he flashed a crooked grin. "Come on Mark, you're only hearing him talk, you're not listening."

I rolled my eyes, "What's the difference?"

"Hearing means you're aware he's talking, listening is when you're actually getting what he's talking about."

"I'm trying my best to not ignore him." I defended myself. "We'll continue this after class, just stop distracting my attention."

He whistled, "Wow, now I'm to blame for averting your attention."

I couldn't help but feel so many mixed emotions whenever I saw Robert Lautner's face, it wasn't even about him being related to me or whatever. I couldn't wrap my mind over how deeply my mom could fall in love, she fitted the definition of being hopelessly head over heels for someone. I wasn't even kidding. I recalled rejoining all those torn pieces of the photograph late at night, and after much time and energy, I had succeeded in getting the whole picture back in one piece - it was a picture of her and Robert Lautner together.

You could imagine how torn I had felt. It involved hours of not talking to anyone, no eating and just closing my eyes to pretend I was asleep.

In that instant, I couldn't help but feel mad at her (I know I wasn't supposed to) but I couldn't measure how much capacity of selfless love was she capable of to commit to someone (that hardly gave her anything at par back in return). Then the thought passed my mind where I realized maybe there were more things that I didn't take after her - and one of them was love. That too, sparked my anger because as much as she viewed her relationship with Robert Lautner as 'true love', I reckoned he merely treated that as a fling and nothing else.

Maybe she still regarded it the same way even after she didn't get to see him one last time. 

It had been long since I thought about her leaving, and what made me sick was that she might have had feelings for him even after so many years. That was the problem, I would never get the chance to ask her personally anymore and all I could do was make assumptions and guesses based on the history she left behind. There were times during the past month where I'd feel like returning to the abandoned house in Lonsdale, sit back in the spot under the oak tree and read her letters (which I still had to finish, there were so many poems and messages she had written). Some had dates, and some were during the time where I was one or two years old - which meant she still visited the house even after I was born; that made me wonder if she ever returned to that place whenever I was in pre-school where she could be a person without responsibilities once more. 

But what had she been thinking about?

Was she reminescing the moments she shared with him? Or was she longing to be free - young and free like people her age at that time? If so, I may had been this the reason she always hid her sadness. I knew it better than anyone else how people could be good at hiding sadness for the sake of others, the only difference was how long could they remain that way without crumbling. She put on a smile in front of me until the end. 

She made sure the last image of her I would see was her smile.

I chose not to dwell on that moment for too long because I hardly remembered anything because I had been so young there was no way I was aware how it all happened. I stayed with her until I was about four, maybe until the middle of the year until I recalled being in the hospital (it was one of those moments where a certain scent brought back that feeling of the past that was inexplicable, and for me it was whenever I paid a visit to the hospital and the smell of antiseptic kicked in) and that would return me to that moment, which I barely remember yet have that stinging indication something important had happened. 

As we were about to leave, and we were the very last to do so, "Mark!" I saw Robert Lautner approach our seats on the far right end of the auditorium, I had clenched my fists for no reason. Perhaps I was tense, this was the first time he approached me after one whole month (I didn't know why it was necessary to point that out). I noticed he hadn't shaved for some time, he seemed to look older (also something I shouldn't have pointed out either). 

"Got a problem?" I asked, maybe a tad bit too harsh (but still I displayed no emotion). He looked at me.

"N-no problem, Mark," he stammered, then thought for just a while before continuing. "I just...we never really had the chance to, you know, talk. I noticed you didn't classes a few weeks ago, along with your friends too. I was wondering, that's all."

I laughed without humour, "That was a month ago, and now you're asking? Professor, I don't think that's relevant anymore." 

He failed to respond, and was silent again, "I thought maybe...you wouldn't want to talk and I figured perhaps we both needed things to..,cool down a bit."

"Do you think I'd feel like talking to you even now?" I questioned, letting the words escape even before I could think it over. "Besides work, I don't think we have anything to talk about."

He tried forming words, "Mark, I'm...trying to reach out here. I'm trying...just so that I can - maybe not make it up to you - but stop running away from my mistakes."

"For your own fulfillment?"

He shook his head, "No, it's not like that. Maybe you can call me selfish for wanting to stop running away for the sake of me, but it's about the both of us too."

I narrowed my eyes, "'Both of us'? There was never 'both of us', it was always you or me - you were never in that picture." and with everything I was saying, I could see it was hitting him hard. I felt bad. I could not believe that I could still feel bad for him. That letter kept replaying in my head again. 'I'd like to hold you / like how I held him / let you cradle me in your arms / like I cradle him to sleep in the cot / but sadly you don't know and he does not know you / when I am torn because I know you both better than anyone else / parallels never to meet'.

"-I just need you to answer this." I said harshly, my fingers gripped onto the sling of my bag. "When you broke up with her - my mom -" I swallowed. "-did you know? That she was pregnant?"

He was thrown off by that question, he stared. "No, I didn't even know you existed." he finally came around to answer. "And we didn't break up, those words never crossed our mouths. We dated for around four months and then she suddenly disappears off campus-"

"That's all I needed to hear, just stop." I cut him off. "H-have a good day...professor." and I my heel and headed for the exit, where I realized Timothy had been waiting this whole time.

I was unsure of why I didn't want to hear him explain everything else, when the logical part of my mind was demanding an explanation. My heart was causing the problems, that was it. But judging by the way he said it, he was being honest about not knowing about my mom expecting me. If that was so, why didn't my mom tell him? When she could and he may have accepted it? 

Why didn't she tell the truth?

"Mark?" Timothy pulled my sleeve. "Mark, are you even listening? Hey I'm talking to you."

I lashed out and punched the wall next to me, turning a few heads. I didn't know why I did it. But that punch made me breathe again, it was as if during that whole conversation I had been holding my breath. I closed my eyes and leaned against the wall, just wanting to stop myself from thinking about it again. I almost forgot Timothy was right beside me, until he put his hand on my back.

"We'll talk it out, okay?" he said to me. "Look the more commotion you cause, the more people will want to know. Just calm down for a second." 

"Y-yeah, sorry." I regained my stability and continued walking.

"Look I'm no better since I drink too," Timothy said as I took another can of his beer. "-but at this rate, you'll be an alcoholic, Mark Lee."

Now I understood why some people drink to forget about their problems, the taste of alcohol made their problems feel slightly less bad compared to the bitter taste of the drink they were having, even if it was just for a short while. I had finished my second can and was moving on to the third one. There were times like this that I wanted it to be that way, let the bitter taste wash away my worries just for a moment so I could be free. But the beer didn't seem to take any effect, let alone do its magic.

"Alright that's enough," Timothy interjected and took the can away from me. "What happened to writing poetry to relieve pressure? You don't even like beer, Mark!"

I sighed, I couldn't bring myself to write poetry - just anything that reminded me of my mom. It was just too hard. I stared at the ground, "Can't you see Tim? I can't. Eveytime I want to write about something, it all goes back to my mom. Her essence was poetry, her history was littered with writing, her life was surrounded by it. And isn't this what you do when you have a problem?"

He scoffed, "I drink for fun, I don't drink to die. And what you're doing now is exactly what cowards do, and that's trying to escape the situation when it'll to hit you harder by the time you're sober again."

"Can't you see?! I have no say over this!" I snapped. "How would you feel if the very person you want to avoid is the person you see almost everyday? He's my father, how would you deal with that?" and I took back the beer can from him and took a sip. I pursed my lips when the taste kicked in again.

He grabbed it back, and chugged down the remaining contents, much to my annoyance. "You're right, and you're wrong. I know how hard it is for you now, and you seem to keep forgetting that there are worse things in the world than your problem, Mark Lee." he told me. "As we sit here, a land mine errupts, war wages on, people are dying every minute - Life. Goes. On. So as much as I want to convince you that I can help you out of this, I can't. So stop thinking that the world is centered around you and your problems, and stop hurting yourself."

We were quiet for a near three minutes, his last words stung. Hurting myself? How was I hurting myself? 

"You said I was hurting myself - go on, talk some sense into me then." I mumbled. I needed someone to tell me what to do because I didn't trust my own head to give advice. I knew I had to tell another person about it, and Timothy was the first person that came into my mind. I trusted him enough to do that, and telling him indeed made the whole thing seem less massive than it really was.

"I hate to see you like this, wasting yourself by drinking, torturing yourself with things you won't normally do - this isn't the Mark Lee I know." he admitted. "This isn't the you I lo-" he paused. "-looked up to as one of the best friends I made in such a short while. Don't do this for someone not worth your time, much less hate." then he noticed I was silent. "Do you hate him?"

Silence.

"Are you mad at him?"

"Yes, I am mad at him!" I answered. "Hate? I-I don't know, I'm not sure. After reading a few of my mom's poems, I think he didn't even know about me - this was all his wild guess that turned out to be real. If she never told him, then how can I blame it all on him for not coming to find us?" The truth was that I wanted to side my mom, and do anything but not blame her - but the truth seemed out in the open, it was hard not to point fingers at her. Sure, I was mad at Robert Lautner for not treating her better.

But was I getting the right story? Everything seemed to have plotholes, nothing could be ruled out from being fishy.

I groaned and put my head in my hands, "I can't believe I'm doubting my own mom. What kind of a son am I?"

We had been under the sun since the past three hours, sitting on the bleachers with absent football players for varsity championships. I remembered the time we were all lounging at the exact same spot, drinking not beer but coke and sandwiches, then Timothy talked about how stuck-up athletes were back in high school and then Lucas protested by saying the media potrayed them all as stereotypical and conventional (obviously because he used to be from that community) and we all laughed at how heated up the debate became.

I stiffed a laugh, "Remember the time you got into an argument with Lucas -about how conventional athletes were portrayed in the media? Like how cocky and such they could be?"

"Well to be fair, Lucas can be cocky when he wants to," he said as-a-matter-of-fact. "And it's also conventional to think parents are perfect, Mark."

*Donghyuck's P.O.V*

"Donghyuck, could you get the mail for me?!" I heard Aunt Tiffany say from kitchen. I was not exagerrating when I said her voice seemed to get higher the longer her pregnancy dragged. 

"Yeah that's Aunt Tiffany, and yes she is still pregnant. What the hell was that kind of question? Are you hoping she'll get an early labour?" I said to Felix through the phone while I got in the house. I had just came back from working at the cinema for my usual Monday evening shift, and no one really comes to the cinema on the day of the week that everyone hates. The idea of taking up work started about a day or two after Felix left, we were eating dinner (conversations seemed to always start at the dinner table, for some reason) and that was when Doc asked how I was going to spend the rest of my holidays. 

"Dunno," I had shrugged. "Guess like how I'm spending it now?". Doc had gave me a questioning look, the look that said he doubted it and replied, "Aren't you bored repeating the same thing over and over again, without Felix around now? I was thinking maybe you should start socializing a bit, build your communication skills, get a job - it really helps when you're in college."

It was another idea that didn't fit well with me, but there were times I had to agree to his terms. It was my duty to as his foster son, I had to repay the old man. "Sure, why not?" I had answered. "I mean I can help out at Larson House, you know be like a substitue playpal with the new kids in case there's an increase in mentally unstable youth-"

"Nono, Donghyuck," Doc had corrected. "Er, by job I meant an actual job; where you get employed and paid for your work."

I frowned.

"How about somewhere friendly like the movies? I heard there's a vacancy on Mondays at the cinema right down our street and I was curious and it was a coincidence that I know Mr. Martinez and he'd be glad to have you work with him!" he seemed so happy about the idea. "And there aren't many interesting things happening on Mondays, right?"

I still was a bit confused. "So by default I'm obliged to work at the cinema, because you already asked for me to get employed on your behalf - without asking me first hand."

He pursed his lips, and I felt bad. "B-but I'm okay with it!" I insisted. "I really am. You're probably right, I should work on my soft skills. Besides what's the downside of getting paid for standing and handing out tickets to people? And you won't have a reason to say that I'm living off your money anymore after this, so there goes the lawsuit to sue me once I'm old enough." And that luckily, had lifted the mood.

"No, of course I'm not hoping for that!" Felix protested. "It's just, I thought maybe the third trimester was coming to an end already?"

I snorted, "You have no idea how much I want that to happen, and when that day comes I'm gonna quit my job and be a babysitter that actually gets paid."

"Getting paid by babysitting your own stepsister?"

"Foster sister, Felix."

"Same difference," he said. "Anyway, did you receive your college letters yet?"

The door slammed behind me, "No, you gotta understand I'm not cut out for academics so don't get your hopes up that I'll be getting into any world class universities-"

Holy .

"Donghyuck?" Felix said through the phone. "Donghyuck, are you still there?"

"Donghyuck, are you in yet?" Aunt Tiffany asked. 

I blinked, "Y-yeah! I'm still here. I mean, I'm in!" and that was when she peeked her head from the kitchen. 

"Just leave Doc's letters on the coffee table, he should be coming back soon. And dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes, we're going Italian today!" she chirped.

I nodded, "I'll, er, be in my room." turned and tucked the remaining letter under my jacket. "Be down in a sec, gotta change." and I hustled up the stairs. 

When I got back into my usual spot on the bed, I reexamined the title of the letters just to make sure I wasn't dreaming. "Sorry about that, Aunt Tiffany was talking to me."

"What made you pause? You seemed shaken. Did something happen?"

I couldn't hold back my laughter of utmost glee, "You wouldn't believe what happened."