*A year earlier*

"So you like poetry too?" he asked as we ate our dinner. We had just become roommates a week ago, so this guy, Lucas suggested that we all head out to dinner that night at a local lounge and bar (I was still unsure if I was allowed to go to a place serving alcoholic beverages but still...) I was weary about the idea at first, but that was until Ily said that the bar had weekly poetry slam sessions.

So there we were around a table, chatting and having conversations for the first time ever - and I was mildly surprised that I managed to find people I could talk to just a few days into college. Which was awesome.

"And the next lucky guest for tonight's poetry session is - can I have a Mr. Timothy Armor?" the host announced on stage. 

We all looked towards Tim, who still had to grasp the situation. "No, I'm not doing it." he shook his head.

"Come on, man," Lucas insisted. "If you do it, we won't have to pay for dinner!"

"-and don't forget an extra banana split too." Somi noted. 

"I've known you since high school, Tim, I'm pretty sure you haven't stopped writing poetry." Caleb added. And I looked at him, my roommate whom I have only gotten to know for one week, I knew he had the same classes as I did, and he enjoyed Death Note and...that was it. I had no idea he enjoyed poetry too.

Still, Tim shook his head, "Nah, it's been too long - I'm rusty by now."

"Just give it a try," I suddenly blurted, after being quiet all the time. His eyes turned to look at me, eyebrows raised. I almost thought I had said somthing wrong, I cleared my throat, "I'd like to see you recite poetry, it's not often I know someone who can do that." 

He was silent, "See? Even Mark's asking for it!" Lucas said again. Timothy broke into a smirk.

"Fine, just because you asked." he said, I had a feeling it was towards me. He left his chair and walked over to the stage as he was applauded by everyone else. 

"Ahh..." he said under his breath, when the microphone was switched on and therefore everyone could hear his breathing. "Don't be awkward, don't be awkward..." and that made the crowd laugh. "Yeah, this is something I wrote a few years back, it's called 'Dear Santa'".

To be continued...

*Donghyuck's P.O.V*

No one said we would have to cram seats with four other people.

Originally, I had planned to find him on my own, take Doc's car or whatever - that was all I had in mind. The moment I knew I had a way to find him, I left the dorms already eager to leave - and that was when Felix chased after me from behind. 

"Hey Donghyuck!" he called after me as I fastened on my helmet. "Where are you going?"

"To find Mark, as soon as possible." I said. 

"And how are you planning on doing that?" 

"I'll...borrow Doc's car and track him on his GPS, it shouldn't be that hard."

"-and it's that easy?" he exclaimed. "So you're planning on doing this all on your own? Without anyone else's help?" he raised his eyebrow.

I hesitated, "I-I'll figure it all out, it'll be fine." But I knew by my wavering, I was doubtful about myself as well. All I could think about was finding Mark and nothing else, I didn't consider the other complications. Then we both heard the sound of wheels from behind us.

"Get in." Timothy Armor said to us as he arrived in his pick-up truck, with four other people that I did not know. When I didn't answer, he rolled his eyes, "Look, Mark means a lot to us too - and we want to give you all the help you can get. The longer we stay here, the further he'll be and harder to find."

"Yeah, Mark's little bro," the guy at the back seat popped his head out the window. "Mark's my buddy too, plus it's no fun if he's not sitting next to me in class for me to mess with." 

"We're worried too, I can't imagine what he's going through right now." a girl added. 

I frowned, "And who the hell are they? Why are they tagging along?"

Timothy shrugged, "By 'us', I meant it literally. These guys begged to help us out."

I narrowed my eyes, "'Us'? Look, you don't have to-"

"That'd be great," Felix interrupted. "I'll just park my bike up here and we're all set to go." 

When he was at a corner, I pulled him by his arm. "Psst, what are you doing? We don't need so many people tagging along."

"The more the merrier, the easier it is to find Mark. I don't see a problem there." he didn't seem to change his mind. "At least I'm sure you won't be doing this all on your own, so who cares if five other people are tagging along? As long as I'm sure I'll be coming along too." and he left me to enter Timonthy's truck.

I scratched my head, what are you thinking about?

"Hi there, I was wondering if you knew this place - Coridel Record Shop?" I asked a passerby on the street. I had arrived at the next small town just two hours away from Carlito's, and it wasn't much different in terms of quiantness and serenity. 

"Er yeah, just walk down that road and take a left when you see the Pointing Man." and the woman walked away as she carried her groceries. "And when you see a man by the name of Mr. Byun, be sure to greet him first!"

I blinked, "Y-yeah, will do..."

The shop looked relatively modern, at least more than Carlito's did. I peeked throught the shop's window, to no avail since it was dusty from no cleaning whatsoever. Taking a leap of faith, I entered the shop and to my mild content - I wasn't the only youngster there. At least there were music nerds, jamming with the headphones the shop provided, they were connected to various retro record players and gramophones. 

"Ahem." a stern man cleared his throat as I walked past the counter. "Do you think I am invisible, boy?"

"Mr...B-byun?" I stuttered. 

"Who are you to call my name like that? Without formal greetings and manners?!" he snapped. 

I bowed, ninety degrees and I felt the traditional Korean side of me coming out. "I'm sorry, sir!"

"That's more like it," he muttered. "Kids these days, all talk and no etiquette..." he rambled as he read his paper. He noticed I wasn't leaving, he turned to me again. "What do you want now? You didn't come here to look at me now, is it?"

"N-no, sir." 

"Then get lost and leave when you're done, it's not like any of you come to buy anything anyway..." I could hear him curse as I left him alone. I wondered if he was aware that he was talking sense into someone who wasn't from around that place, or he just assumed that I had just moved here and didn't bother asking more.

I did the homework, the town's population didn't even exceed two thousand - the possibility of not knowing everyone was unlikely.

The next step was to sit in a corner and reopen the journal, since I still had no idea where to look. The pages were littered with extracts of poems that I could not even pinpoint where I was meant to look, I tried relating every lyric or verse that I could recall and made sense, but was met at a stump. I decided to take a look at the map again, in case I missed anything. My eyes scrutinized on the dot, and kept on repeating 'what would she most likely do?' She was a poet, and she liked riddles - but she never stopped leaving clues. My thumb gently traced the dot, brushing the surface with my fingerprints - and that was when a slither of faint writing reappeared.

I had no choice but to return to Mr. Byun, in all his grumpiness. "Er, do you happen to have an eraser sir?" I blurted.

He raised a cranky eyebrow, "What d'ya want an eraser for?" he snapped. But nonetheless, he took one ancient looking one from his drawers. "You'll be charged for that."

"Thanks, sir." I said and started gently erasing the surface of the map, careful not to tear it apart. I could sense Mr. Byun peering from his newspaper curiously. When I was done, barely but surely, I could read the carved out letters hidden under the intentional pencil colouring (my mom was was pretty sleek, I'll tell you that...) "'You're a little late, I'm already torn'" I frowned, those words rang a bell. It was as if I heard someone say it-

Or sang it...somewhere in the kitchen.

I took out my phone and quickly searched up the exact same words, confident something would show up. Indeed, one particular song matched the lyrics along with its release date. "Natalie Imbruglia 'Torn'..."

"What are you up to, boy?" Mr. Byun cleared his throat. "With that map and all..."

"I think my mom left something here for me to find, sir, and it might have something to do with this song. I'm just...not really sure if that's really it."

He narrowed his eyes, "Well why don't you ask her yourself?"

"I would if she was still around, sir..." I answered sheepishly and it was followed by an awkward silence, he must've realized he had said something 'sensitive'. 

"Well," he blurted. "Anything I can help you with then?"

My eyes lit up, "Y-yeah, do you happen to have this song here?"

He scratched his chin, "It depends if that record is still here, which I'm very sure it still is - it's not like anyone buys anything here. Which year was it from?"

"1996." 

He pointed to the third shelf in the shop, "That's where you'll find albums and records dated between years 1989 to 1999, hopefully that will help."

"Thanks sir!" I said. I wasn't sure if he heard me since he was already averting his attention to his newspaper again.

I browsed through the decades-old albums and records, the dust brushing my fingertips as if the memories of every year clung onto the present that was me. I had a feeling I was taking the right steps now, I knew I had to be right. If that didn't make it even more clear, I finally remembered Aunt Tiffany's voice belting out the exact same lyrics while she cooked pasta in the kitchen. It must had been her and my mom's favourite song, a common interest they had was music if not everything else. 

The album was in my hands, Natalie Imbruglia's debut album 'Left of the Middle'. The blue album cover proved to be decades old, judging by the slight dents and torns (the pun. Ha.) it had definitely been on that shelf for a long time. I took the disc out, and tried searching through to see if there was anything I knew that she left behind. My hands felt inside the pocket, and sure enough there was a piece of paper clipped to a chunk of torn (sorry) photograph.

' 

'I thought I saw a man brought to life
He was warm, he came around like he was dignified
He showed me what it was to cry
Well you couldn't be that man I adored
You don't seem to know, don't seem to care
What your heart is for
No, I don't know him anymore

There's nothin' where we used to lie
Conversation has run dry
That's what's going on
Nothing's fine, I'm torn'

-Natalie Imbruglia, 1996-

'I may have mistaken you for more
You were here, you were real, but why did I trap myself for?
You made me realize what it was to laugh
Well he was never meant to be my man
And it was only ever you
That could make me fall 'cause you can'

-Marissa Lee, 1997-

*Donghyuck's P.O.V*

"Is he still missing?" Riley asked over the phone, in the background I could hear the sound of airplanes taking off and airport announcements. Today was the day she flew over to South Korea, and yet she took the time to ask about Mark. "He's still ignoring your calls, isn't he?"

"Luckily we can track him, so hopefully he'll stop somewhere for a while so we can catch up to him." I answered. "It's gonna be okay, Riley. Mark's old enough to not get into much trouble, he should be okay at the moment."

"Says the person who worries about him the most..." she refuted. "Donghyuck, be honest with me - am I the reason he left?" I could tell she felt so much guilt.

"Honestly Riles, I'm not so sure myself. But if it really was because of what happened between you two, he would have left long ago - why now? I think something else happened that only he knew, and it has nothing to do with you." I knew if I said anything else, it would make her doubt my claims. And I didn't want her to regret over something when she was about to board a flight to halfway across the globe. "Don't worry, he'll be fine. Call me as soon as you land, so that I can update you as much as possible."

"Hmm...okay then," she said. "And Donghyuck?"

"Yeah?"

"Remember what I said," she told me. "Tell him how you really feel, don't bottle it all up for him to break it for you."

"I don't know Riley, you know it's hard for me to say all that out loud."

"It's hard until you try. Don't you love him? ....Do you?" 

"Of course I do," I sighed, as I peered out the window as Felix and everyone else exited the store after purchasing food and drinks (Tim was in charge of refilling the petrol). He was all smiles and grins, it only made me even more of the outsider of all this. I slumped against the headrest, "-so much that just looking at him makes me feel like I'm the one too concerned of how this will end."

All of a sudden, Felix opened the door at the driver's seat - the one I was sitting in. He arched his eyebrow, "Move over, let me drive." he said to me when my hands were already on the steering wheel. 

I blinked, "Huh? It's fine, I'm pretty sure I can drive."

"You've been driving ever since you exchanged with Timothy, and that was five hours ago. So scoot over and let me take the wheel." he insisted.

I rolled my eyes, "Who made you the boss?"

He leaned on the window shield, his lips just inches away from mine. "I made myself the boss, because I can. Besides, it's almost dusk - you should get some rest."

The more he kept repeating I needed to rest, the more my brain felt like it. I tried denying the fact that I was exhausted, and that my eyelids were getting heavy. I had to give in. 

"Fine." I muttered and scooted over the seat on the other side. Timothy and his friends were at the back, already joking around and laughing - almost made it seem like this was a roadtrip and not a manhunt. Despite all the tension there was, at least they were there to lighten the mood (even if it wasn't neccessary at all). "I'm still wondering why did they even want to come along in the first place?" I mumbled.

"So that there's more people to take the steering wheel," Felix answered. "Unlike people like you who just can't let anyone else drive, have a break won't you?"  then he grabbed for my hand. "If not for you, do it for me - sleep."

I closed my eyes and dozed off.

"From when I was little, I had heard so many stories about Santa Claus. He who knows if you are awake or asleep; whether you have been a good boy or girl. So after long consideration on my tenth brithday, I decided that I would write him a letter." Timothy started off with his awkward and chirpy stature, in which I found entertaining. "'Dear Santa,' I wrote, 'I know you're very busy but I cannot help but notice that you have visited every single one of my friends - except me. Again." 

That made a few people laugh.

"That's cool! Kind of...NOT REALLY." he corrected himself. "I think you have put my name on the 'Bad Boys' list, so here are a few things I'd like to clarify. One, Halloween candy; I know mom told me to only eat two pieces of candy per day and I ended up eating twelve pieces of Fruit Plus that day, but actually those twelve pieces were in one packet so technically they could be considered as ONE piece."

That comment made me laugh too.

"Two, dad's pottery collection," he continued. "I know that I was in that room that dad specifically told me to not go into, but it was our dog - Apollo's fault since he sneaked into that room and I had to chase after him. Apollo broke that vase, NOT ME." his biting humour made the crowd erupt in laughter, because the way he brought out the character he was playing was phenomenal. 

"Three, Valentine's Day. I did not mean to not give any Valentine cards to the class like what our teacher told us to do. I DID give a card just not to everyone, but that's a different story. So after explaining all this, I hope you can reconsider my status as a 'bad boy'."

"A week passes, and Santa doesn't reply. I cry - a lot." he added. "Then I, as a ten-year-old boy started to wonder if I did not explain myself enough in the last letter. Maybe Santa wanted me to tell who I gave my Valentine to - it was Simon Brekker, the boy with freckles and strawberry blonde hair and blue eyes. Now I didn't want to tell Santa, because I didn't want to hear his judgement, like everyone else's. 'Sissy' I heard them say to Jaiden Hitomori as they shoved him in the playground after stealing his diary he kept in his Power Rangers backpack. 'Boys who like boys are sissies!' their words echoed in my head until Christmas. Confusion drowns my thoughts, words and gestures make me dizzy of what I was to become, and closing my eyes was my ultimate fear because my dreamland was my nightmare."

"A boy is not boy if he likes Barbie dolls - my sister plays them, but I have no problem playing tea party with her in our treehouse. A boy is not a boy if he doesn't like soccer - I am not interested in soccer. A boy is not a boy if they do not like Anna Freya, the girl we all call Snow White - I think she is kind and pretty, but I don't stare at her in class like everyone else does." he pursed his lips. "So what is it then? What was wrong with me? Was it wrong that instead of her rosy cheeks and tidy dress, I thought his stubby fingers and short messy hair were nicer to look at?" 

"So I told my mom, of the dreams in my sleep. Instead of being a knight in shining armor saving a princess from a tower, I dreamed of being a lost boy in Neverland, holding his hand as we navigated through the forest of pixies and beasts, I dreamed being on a glass-bottomed boat as I held my breath and laughed with the rhytym of the other boy's chuckles. 'Momma,' I asked. 'does Santa hate me because I like a boy?'" 

The silence of the crowd was powerful enough to amaze me.

"'Baby,' she whispered to me. 'baby, it's okay to not like a girl. Remember that you are a seedling created from the very first kiss of your momma and papa, and that was a thing called love. And love comes in every shape you can imagine, not sculptures of what is a boy or girl. But if it's him that makes you feel something, if anything that grants you happiness - then it's right. You are allowed to feel loved, as much as you are about to feel pain from what people might say to you. But baby, feelings are gifts and if forcing yourself to feeling nothing at all - what a waste of that gift!' she said with tears rolling down her cheek. She rocked me in her arms and after a long silence, 'Besides, we're Jewish,' she said. 'We don't celebrate Christmas, we observe Christmas'"

And when he ended his poem, I felt like he needed a standing ovation. I could hear everyone greeting him with applause and cheers, but I realized that I was the only one standing as I clapped. Timothy looked at me, slightly bewildered that I was the one to welcome his piece with such positivity. He smiled.

It was the brightest smile I had ever seen.