x. “This is the danger of loving: No matter how powerful you are, no matter how many kingdoms you rule, you cannot stop those you love from dying.”

—Tales of Despereaux  

_____

There’s many things that I know Kim Jongdae doesn’t like talking about, and in the beginning, I think it’s because he’s ashamed of them.

His mother, for example. Maybe she’s a celebrity, but if people know just a bit, they’ll want to know even more, they’ll pry, they’ll push until they find out that she doesn’t come home for most nights and that he spends even more alone, that she’s too sad to ever mention his father. I can tell why he’s ashamed of that, really, even though I don’t believe he should be.

But it leads back to somewhere else; himself. Resentment piled up from people unable to take no for an answer, seeing his mother come home drunk too many times, the shame that accompanies it—at the end of the day, Kim Jongdae takes that all on his own shoulders, and perhaps, when it becomes a little too heavy to carry, he attempts to relieve it through lines of red, because maybe it’s a little bit easier with other pain to focus on.

So, I hope, that one day, he’ll maybe start opening up a little about it.

And then I think about it again, and I think that if he doesn’t, perhaps it’ll be okay if I gave him a slight push, even if it means stepping past what he’s comfortable with—or perhaps, more accurately, what I’m comfortable with.

***

I don’t have a chance to talk to Jongdae the next day; our only class together is Languages, and after class, he’s busy chatting with his friends and it doesn’t feel quite right to in, so I go for English instead of saying anything. Then there’s one more block before lunch, though it’s a class we don’t share and I don’t say a thing. By the time it’s lunch, I’ve lost sight of Jongdae and he seems to be too busy with everyone else for me to grab him.

I grab a tray (the food doesn’t exactly look too appetizing today, so I pick what looks edible) and then someone taps me on the shoulder.

I spin around to see Kim Jongdae, though he’s only holding a bun. He raises an eyebrow at me. “You’re going to eat that?”

“It’s just rice,” I reply. “With… is that pork? Or chicken?”

“I thought it was duck.”

“Oh.” I squint at my food. “Well, the vegetables look edible?”

“Is that a statement or a question?”

I squint at the food again. “A statement?”

“Those were both questions.”

Laughing slightly, I shake my head at him. Admittedly, part of me was slightly nervous to talk to him, given that the last time I saw him didn’t exactly end the best (I know I haven’t done anything wrong, per say, but it still feels like I’ve intruded on some part of his life that I’m not supposed to, and I can’t help but feel a little guilty at that). It’s fine, though, I reason, because Jongdae doesn’t look bad, and the fact that he’s joking is a good signal.

“Where’s your friends?” I end up asking. It’s been nearly two months, and for some reason, talking to him at school feels much different compared to just talking to him outside, when it’s just the two of us.

Jongdae shrugs. “Eating,” he replies, like that really answers the question. “Want to go outside?”

Of course he wants to talk. There’s many things unsaid from yesterday, so I nod. “Where?”

He shrugs. “Courtyard?”

“It’s cold.”

“Then we can go—”

“I’m not worried about myself,” I correct. “You’re the one who’s scared of the cold. Can you really handle it out there?”

Jongdae’s the one who laughs slightly this time, then he pulls me aside. “You’re blocking the line,” he says, then in a quieter voice, murmurs, “I’ll be fine if I can grab my coat.”

It’s then that I realize that practically everybody behind us are now looking at us. Perhaps for holding up the line, or maybe because it’s Kim Jongdae and a girl nobody quite knows and he’s laughing and that’s strange. Whatever the reason, the attention is enough to make me uncomfortable, so I point at the door. “Let’s hurry up,” I suggest.

***

It’s rather chilly outside, but I don’t mind the cold as much as I mind the fact that it has made my lunch cold. Then again, the chicken (or pork or duck) doesn’t exactly look appetizing, so I suppose the cold can’t make it that much worse.

There aren’t many students about because it’s too cold, so I suppose that’s one advantage. Jongdae finds a chair that isn’t completely covered in snow, and he sits down and begins taking apart the packaging for his bun.

I glance at him. “Aren’t you going to be hungry if you only eat that?”

Jongdae shakes his head. “I’ll buy a snack later on something,” he replies. “The cafeteria’s food didn’t… look that good.”

I look down at my tray, then dig the chopsticks into the rice. “At least you can’t go wrong with rice, right?”
 

“Plain rice is gross,” he argues back, though it’s a bit unenthusiastic. “Anyway, sorry for yesterday. I didn’t think… my mom would come home.”

He’s not looking at me but staring off in the distance, not touching the food either. It’s something I’ve begun to realize that he does when he’s speaking about something he’s hesitant or not comfortable about.

“It’s fine,” I reply. “I know you’re… not really comfortable with people knowing. If it makes you feel any better, I still have absolutely no idea who she is?”

He laughs, but it’s half hearted. “Not surprised. Her name’s… Jung Jiyu. She used to be a solo singer. Now she’s still… well, she’s a hostess a show.”

I blink. He says it easily, like it’s nothing, but these are the exact thing that Jongdae has been so careful to keep from people for nearly two and a half years. And now he’s telling me like it’s no huge deal.

But that’s the thing about Jongdae, too. He makes it sound simple, but it’s a huge amount of trust he’s putting on the line by telling me this. Of course, the last thing Kim Jongdae wants to do is make it look like it’s a huge thing, but even if he brushes it off like this, I can tell that it really still is for him.

I poke at my lunch. I don’t feel hungry. “Why are you telling me?”

Jongdae shrugs. “Because I know you’re not going to tell anyone else,” he replies, then hesitates. “And because it… feels a bit better to tell someone, I guess. It feels nice to… trust someone.”

“So your mom’s been a celebrity for your whole life?”

He nods. “She took a hiatus for a while. Married my dad, kept low, no one really knew where she went. It was actually for two years, but then she renewed her contract with the company she was signed under.”

His dad. Jongdae’s never mentioned him, and even now, I’m hesitating, afraid where to draw the line. It’s always been like that with Jongdae, I’ve always felt nervous about asking anything that has to do with his personal. But he’s the one telling me, and I suppose I have to get past the fear one way or another.”

“What happened to your dad?”

He blinks at the question, though he doesn’t exactly look surprised. “He got into a car crash, apparently.”

“Apparently?”

“My mom never told me the details.” Jongdae takes a bite of his bread. “She said it wasn’t important because whatever happened can’t be… changed, but I don’t know. I don’t remember much of him, just bits and pieces. I was only five years old, so…”

I can’t imagine living without a father for so long, much less when my mother’s already extremely busy. He takes another bite of his bread, gaze fixed in the distance. “I’ve gotten used to it, really. I’m not that close to my mom anyway.”