By the bank of the frozen lake, a tall, lone figure with stooped shoulders stood with his hands in his pockets. He had forgotten to bring his gloves, not really realizing – or caring – that it would be this cold outside. Sehun's fingers closed around the piece of folded paper he always carries in his pocket, like a good luck charm. He didn't even need to look at it anymore, he knew every line and the brush had made, yet he couldn't stop looking at it every now and then. The edges were dirty and worn, and folding it up had created deep, delicate creases that threatened to rip any time.

Even if the creases were not there, it would have been easy to rip it apart – everything could be ripped apart with one little tear that gradually becomes bigger and bigger, until it finally breaks.

He had almost torn back then, too.

Sehun sighs and watches his breath rise up like white mist. It is so cold, but he doesn't want to leave. This place is special – it is still as peaceful and tranquil as it was before, and here... he had spent so much time with her. They had confessed on this very spot, whispered secrets, and simply enjoyed each other's presence.

Sehun unfolds the piece of paper, and it was like she was here with him, and he lets himself drift off into his memories, smiling yet trying not to cry at the same time.

****

Why did people always tell you things like to go outside for fresh air? It wasn't like there was no air inside. Sehun was perfectly contented to stay inside – he had no choice. The outside world sent him into panic-attacks and nauseating bouts of anxiety, the indoors was his safe haven.

"What are you afraid of?" people would ask him.

He could never reply. He didn't know. He just was terribly afraid, to the point that he couldn't travel in a bus or go on an elevator.

Agoraphobia.

There was even a name for it. Giving it a name made Sehun think of neat ribbons tying together a package that was falling apart, for some reason. As though having a name made it seem prettier, less threatening. Most people thought of things like rescuing someone from a burning building as something brave. To Sehun, bravery meant going out of your house without feeling afraid, and he was not his version of brave. He worked from home as an editor, and he never had to step foot out of his apartment except once a week to buy groceries.

Once, that had been an ordeal, something that he dreaded and fretted over days before he actually went. He used to only go out for groceries once a month, stocking up on things like instant noodles, but for the past few months, he went once a week. For the past few months, it was almost... well, pleasant?

It was because of the cashier at the counter.

It was only after seeing her a few times that she didn't become a dreaded task to overcome – he had gotten used to the old cashier, who was quiet and never spoke to him, and this new one liked to talk. She talked about everything and anything, and Sehun nodded and watched her make the bill, trying to keep himself together.

"Say, you aren't very talkative, are you?" she asked once. Sehun flushed; embarrassment was not a new feeling, it was something he was familiar with all too well. He was about to apologize – she must have thought he was rude for not answering – but she surprised him by smiling and saying, "It's ok, I can talk for the both of us."

She surprised him the next time too. In his bag of groceries, she had stuck a little pink post-it note on a packet of noodles. She must have stuck it quickly, because he hadn't noticed it. A drawing of a large grinning cat and a "Have a great day!" stared up at him. How tacky, but at the same time, why did it seem so cute? It was probably a mistake, he thought. She had meant it for someone else, or it had accidentally ended up in his bag.

The next time though, there was another drawing on a post-it note stuck to his groceries. And the next time, and the next. Sehun went once a week now, just to make sure the post-its were for him, and not because he liked any of the small talk they made, he told himself repeatedly. She always asked him how he was, and when he came a week later, she said it was good to see him again.

Pathetic.

Sehun knew it was pathetic, and that he was so desperate that he had deluded himself into attaching any meaning to her words. She was just being polite, she spoke with all the customers, and she was friendly by nature. Sehun was just another customer to chit-chat with – maybe she stuck post-its in everyone's bags, maybe they were some kind of gimmick the convenience store had come up with.

Yet he still went there once a week, becoming more and more afraid of how much he enjoyed the small talk, and how he counted down the days to go to the store. He told her once that he was an editor, and she had enthusiastically said that she was an art student, and her dream was to be an illustrator for children's books. She told him, as she put strawberry flavored yogurt in his bag, that he should try the chocolate flavored yogurt one day. As Sehun passed the yoghurt section the next time, he remembered, and he took the chocolate flavored one.

"Oh, you remembered!" She seemed delighted, and for some reason this made Sehun glad he had remembered.

"Yeah," he said. "I guess a little change won't hurt."

She put down the packet of noodles she was putting in the plastic bag. "You always take the same things, I noticed," she said. "Don't you get bored of the same food?"

He shook his head – he was happy with noodles and yogurt, and the occasional cookie.

"I love trying out different foods," she said, putting the noodles in the bag. "I love food from other countries, too – Italian, Japanese, Indian, you name it."

Sehun had the sudden mental image of her shoving a bunch of food in , delightedly, and he forced back a small smile – he didn't want her to think he was making fun of her.

"Just smile," she said, getting out the change and glancing at him. "Go on, stop trying to force it back."

Sehun averted his eyes, suddenly a bit embarrassed – had he been so obvious? He was behaving like an idiot – a stupid, pathetic loser whose only conversations took place once a week with the cashier.

But sometimes they were more than conversations. Sehun went late so there were barely any other customers, and she would show him the new flavor of noodles, or just chat while he got what he needed. At first, he had been uncomfortable, wishing she would go away, her presence somehow making him feel embarrassed, as though he were filling in his shopping basket in a really stupid manner. But on the other hand, he liked listening to her talk, and with time, it almost became a bit comfortable.

It scared him. The way he looked forward to going to the convenience store now and the way he enjoyed the little time spent with her scared him.

Sometimes Sehun thought it would be better to just go to another convenience store, take a break and clear his thoughts. If he stopped seeing her, maybe he wouldn't crave their small snatches of conversation. But he did – the two weeks he didn't see her seemed even longer and lonelier than his days usually seemed.

As stupid as it might sound, he missed her.

It felt as though his days were turning more and more terrible, and he longed to go to the convenience store yet at the same time, he was even more terrified of going outside. It was that time of the year again. Whenever it drew near, it drained Sehun of the little energy he had left.

Sehun felt terrible now even before he woke up – though feel would be the wrong word, as he felt nothing but a kind of numbness, deep within him. He had neither the energy nor the will to get out of bed, preferring to stare into empty space and try not to sleep – try not to fall victim to nightmares. They might be dreams, not reality, but to Sehun, they were real – when he experienced them, he felt as much pain and fear that he would if they were events he experienced when he was awake.

It was today.

This Saturday marked seventeen years since it had happened. Such a long time ago, but such a short time. He could remember the panic settling over him like a thick blanket, threatening to choke him, as he was alone among the wreck of a car, begging the still figures of his parents and his sister to wake up.

Needless to say, they didn't. They were gone, and Sehun had been left behind to fend for himself, kicked from one relative to another like a game of pass-the-parcel which contained a rat rather than a gift until he turned eighteen.Why hadn't they taken Sehun with them? Why had they left him behind?

Eventually, Sehun somehow managed to get up some time in the afternoon– the crazy urge to go the bathroom was what finally made him drag himself out of bed. The water from the tap was cold, slightly waking him up. Sehun's eyes flitted to the mirror. On most days, he never looked at himself, not finding the point in staring at his own reflection. On the rare occasions that he did look, he always ended up disgusted at the face that stared back at him – large, hollow eyes, which stared back at him, empty and heavy. Pale skin, an unhealthy shade, kind of like a skull, so pale he looked like a corpse. Unwashed black hair – what was the point in shampooing it anyway? - that stuck out in crazy angles, behaving as it wanted. There was nothing in his reflection that he found pleasant to look at – not his eyes, his nose, his lips, nothing. And if he didn't find it pleasant, then who would?

Sehun dried his hands on his T-shirt, and slowly dragged himself out of the bathroom. Today was just going on forever and ever, he was tired of it. He wanted to be cheered up, and fill this awful numb emptiness with something, but he didn't know how. It was pathetic, but there was nothing that he really liked or looked forward to.

Except perhaps going to the convenience store, and to see her there.

But he couldn't go outside, especially today. A passing car was enough to give him chills and have him sweating despite feeling cold – and that was if he was lucky. No, he had to stay inside today.

The next evening though, Sehun went to the convenience store. After those two weeks, it might do him good to see her face again. Had she noticed he was gone?

Heart racing, whether with anticipation or anxiety, or perhaps both, Sehun didn't know, he went inside. His eyes immediately went to the counter, where he was shocked to see a middle-aged man instead of her familiar face.

Where was she?

Had she been fired?

Did something bad happen to her?

Sehun wanted to go and ask the man where she was, but he remained frozen in place. Instead of buying anything, he backed out, and went home, wondering what had happened to her.

The next day, he went back to the convenience store. This time, he bought a little something, but he returned the next day and the next, hoping to see her.

Five days went by, and by the morning of the sixth, Sehun was convinced he would never see her again. A bitter heaviness loomed over him as he trudged once more to the store, looking without hope through the window before entering. Sehun froze in his tracks, his heart suddenly doing this weird thing, as though he were falling off a step.

She was there.

Relief washed over him. Where had she been? Was she all right? Would she remember him? That last thought scared him; he was as unmemorable as the cement on the sidewalk. Yet, perhaps she would remember him... if he went inside, he would know.

Half of Sehun wanted to leave, but the other half wanted to go in. He had missed her, and he knew he would regret leaving when she was back.

Before he could change his mind, Sehun took a deep breath, and, legs feeling as wobbly as jelly, he opened the door.

She turned to look at who had entered, and then her entire face split into a smile. "Hi!"

"Um, hi," he muttered, suddenly wishing he was back outside. His feet were too large, he had no idea what to do with his hands, and his eyes didn't know where to look.

"It's great to see you again! Did you miss me?" she asked, her tone playful. "I was sick and my exams were going on – they finished yesterday though, thank God."

So she hadn't quit or been fired. She had been sick, and now she was back, and would be here every day. Very tiny wings of hope beat its wings against Sehun's ribcage, the idea of her being here every day making him feel lighter, somehow.

"Are you better now?" he asked, worried – if she was sick, she should rest, and coming from who-knows-how-far-away and working couldn't be good for her.

"Yep!" she sang out. "I heal extraordinarily fast, you see. Down with fever one day and then up and running the next!"

"That's good," he said.

"Why don't you buy what you need?" she suggested. "I'll help you!"

She came from behind the counter, and just like she had done before, she helped Sehun fill his basket. Right when they got to the noodle aisle, a man's voice called, "Kim Hayun, your shift is over!"

"Hold on!" she called back. Then, addressing Sehun, she said, "My shift ends and starts earlier now."

Not knowing what he could say to that, Sehun nodded; was Kim Hayun her name? It suited her, he decided. Now that he knew her name, she seemed more... real, tangible. They quickly finished filling the basket, and the other cashier insisted on making the bill and told her to just get ready to go home.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sehun watched her disappear into a room in the back, and come back out just as he had finished paying. She had her hair down, letting it tumble down to her shoulders, and had removed the apron.

In this more casual appearance, Sehun thought she somehow looked younger, fresher. Even after a day of work and after being sick and studying, she still brimmed with a bubbly kind of energy.

After saying goodbye to the other cashier, she turned to Sehun. "Which way are you going?"

Hesitant, Sehun pointed outside, to the right.

"Me too!" she said brightly. "I go that way to catch the bus – do you go on the bus too?"

He couldn't go on the bus even if he wanted to. Sehun shook his head. "My apartment is nearby."

"Shall we walk together then?"

"Um, ok?"

Hayun took his bag and with sprightly steps, she went out of the store, Sehun hurrying behind here.

"Give me the bag," he said, not wanting to bother her."You don't need to-"

"Huh? Oh, this is fine, it's light," she said, swinging it slightly. "What happened, it isn't your usual haul – why is there only one packet of ramen in here?"

Sehun felt his face heat up. It was so I had an excuse to go back and see if you were there, he said silently. He didn't tell her, though, he shrugged noncommittally. "Don't know... for a change I guess."

"Then will you come to the store every day?" she asked. Sehun was taken aback, she sounded eager.

"Um... I'm not sure," he muttered, feeling a familiar gentle heat spread across his face – he really wanted to see her every day.


"I'll just have to wait and see, then," she said. "Oh, and by the way, I keep meaning to ask you, but haven't really found a good moment yet. What's your name? Since you know mine, may I know yours?"

"S-Sehun," he stammered. "Oh Sehun."

"Oh Sehun," she repeated, as though to store it in her memory. "I'll remember that. Do you remember my name?"

"Kim Hayun," he murmured, uttering the words for the first time. He liked the way the syllables rolled off his tongue.

"Yes!" She nodded in approval. "You better remember that, ok?"

He nodded; he didn't know why, but a little laugh tickled the pit of his stomach when she said that – it meant she thought of him as important enough to remember his name, and to care if he remembered hers.

By then, they had reached Sehun's flat building. Hayun handed over the bag, and with a "See you soon, Sehun!" and a wave, she was off, leaving Sehun to watch her retreating figure, a small smile flirting with the corners of his lips.

Needless to say, he went back to the store the next evening. Hayun walked with him to his apartment, and this time when they were going to say goodbye,she held out a small paper bag. Sehun hesitated. What was in it? Why was she doing this? He wanted to ask her, but no words came out. Words always failed him when he needed them the most, and once again, they failed him.

"Please accept it," she said. "Don't refuse my bribe!"

"B-bribe?" he echoed, not sure what she meant.

"Haven't you noticed I'm bribing you to be my friend?"

Friend?

Did this mean she wanted to be friends with him? Sehun couldn’t explain to himself why she would want something like that...

Only because she doesn't know you, a voice whispered in the back of his mind. Who would want to be friends with someone like you?

"Come on Sehun, please?" she asked. "It's a gift! Not a bribe, I was joking about that!"

Sehun tried to smile, as he reached out with trembling hands to take the bag, but he knew it came out awkwardly and strained. His face heated up as his hand brushed against hers.

"Thank you," said Hayun. "I hope you'll like it!"

Before he could think of what to answer, she was off again. Just before she turned the corner, she turned back and called out, "Sehun? It was really nice seeing you again – thank you for coming out today!"

It was really nice seeing you today.

The words repeated in his mind, over and over, Sehun's heart doing that weird jump again, like he was falling off a step. She waved one last time, and he waved back, and then she disappeared behind the corner.

It had been so good to see her, too. She wouldn't say that to him if she hadn't meant it, would she? No, probably not... Sehun didn't see why anyone would waste their time if they didn't mean it...

His fingers held on tighter to the bag, and he took it inside and put it on the table and took out it's contents. There was chocolate and strawberry flavored yogurt, and a bag of gingerbread men, the kind you see in cartoons, and post-it notes - lots of post-it notes, probably one from each day. She had drawn on each of them, and written little messages. Sehun actually found himself laughing at the drawing of a grumpy bear with its arms crossed, and then one of a yawning moon with a little night cap on.

Hayun was definitely good enough to illustrate children's books, he reflected, and he looked at all the post-it notes again before putting them carefully in his drawer with the others.

This was proof that they had been for him after all.

The next evening, it was Sehun who gave her a paper bag. It had taken him the whole morning to pluck up the courage to even put the paintbrushes in the bag, but he decided that he wanted her to have them – there were five of them, handmade and with the finest of fine bristles. They had been a rare gift, but he had no artistic