xxi. Not all those who wander are lost.

― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring

_____

I’ve never been more terrified in my life than I am at the moment, sitting in front of Jongdae’s mother in front of the coffee shop we found down the street. There is thirty minutes before it closes, and I order a hot chocolate so they don’t kick us out. She doesn’t order anything.

A little closer to her, a little better light, and I can see the similarities between her and Jongdae even if he looks a little more like his father. The eyebrows, for one, and the way she looks at me is strangely familiar, an older image of the boy who’s sat across from me for the past couple of months. It’s strange, and scary. I can’t help but wonder if I’ve made the right decision, or just made everything worse.

Jung Jiyu looks at me, eyes tired. It’s more… covered than Jongdae, a barely-noticeable layer of makeup covering the shadows under her eyes, but they’re weary as they look at me. And while I want to feel angry at her, I can’t bring myself to either.

The cup of hot chocolate burns my palms and fingers, but it’s also soothing to hold. She watches me quietly, and I try to search for ways to start the conversation again.

Finally, she asks, “Have you seen Jongdae, then?”

I nearly choke on the next sip of hot chocolate. “What?”

Her eyebrows furrow. “Jongdae,” she repeats. “I thought you’d… I thought he was with you.”

“I thought he was home,” I manage. “He didn’t talk to me or any of his friends, and I thought…”

“He’s not here,” Jongdae’s mother replies, voice sharpening, though there’s a hint of panic in her expression. “He hasn’t come home since… two nights ago. I don’t know where he went. I thought he would be with you.”

There’s an undeniable surge of guilt at that, and it also hurts. I wanted Jongdae to trust me, but it’s obvious that she’s overestimating just how much he does trust me. And after everything, I don’t know if I even deserve that trust. Perhaps I’ve already broken it.

“Do you know where he is?” I ask.

She presses her lips together. “I thought he sent you here to talk to me. I don’t know.”

Everything I’ve prepared myself to say to her, every point I’ve carefully mapped out on the way here and the time I’d spent waiting fades away. Accusations at her, as desperate as they’re angry, at myself, at Chanyeol—and all I can think of is that none of us have seen Jongdae since what has felt like forever ago.

“I phoned him last night,” I try. “He said he wanted some time alone. I thought he just meant at home.”

“He hasn’t picked up my calls.” She looks out the window as if she can somehow see Jongdae outside. The clock nears ten o’clock, late given that I still have to go home, but that feels like another problem for another time. The cafe staff is cleaning up at the front counter, and one of them tells me politely that we have ten minutes before they have to close the shop.

“Where could he be?” I finally ask her.

Something a lot like guilt flashes across her face. “I don’t know. He’s never gone anywhere else.”

Part of me wants to say that she should know, given that she’s his mother, but it’s useless, pointless, and meanspirited. I pull out my phone.

“Don’t,” Jung Jiyu says. “He has it turned off. He won’t pick up. I’ve tried.”

This had been an attempt to convince her about Jongdae’s singing, that she should at least let him do what he wanted even if she couldn’t bring herself to encourage him. Not finding out that he was missing. This was supposed to be some sort of confrontation, but looking at the woman in front of me, I don’t even know how to begin.

“He really wants to participate in that talent show,” I end up saying.

She lifts her eyes slightly to meet mine. “Jongdae has his reasons,” she says sharply. “I have mine.”

She’s a lot different from Jongdae, I think. This—this feels like the attitude I’ve seen him treat her with, sharp despite the calmness, and the faint hint of dismissal. Except with him, it’s only directed to her. I wonder if she hates me.

“Jongdae’s his own person,” I counter. “He can decide for himself what he wants and what he doesn’t want. You don’t need to discourage him if he really wants it.”

She looks at me bitterly. The worker at the counter waves her arms at us—five minutes.

Even after all this time, I don’t want to understand her. Even though I’m here to convince her, even though I had told myself many times and had realized many times that I can’t simply hate her without understanding—there are many times when I think of Jongdae’s mother, and all I can focus on is how hopeless he’d been. How hopeless she had made him. But right now, the same look is reflected on her face—the look I’d seen on Jongdae’s many times, when he’d believed himself to have no other options.

“Jongdae doesn’t understand,” she finally says, then gathers her purse from the chair beside her and stands up. “He doesn’t know what this—” she gestures at herself, “—does to a person.”

“What does it do, then?”

She fixes me with an angry look. “It gets into your head,” she snaps. “My son has insomnia. You know by now, right? He can say goodbye to the little sleep he manages to get. He can say goodbye to trusting people to be genuine. He can do his best and yet always see that people will want to rip apart every single one of his movements when they’re no better. He can witness the fans that claim they adore him make his life miserable.” The last word comes out with more venom than I’d expected. She glares at me. “I don’t want that for him, and if he hates me for it, then let him. But I won’t him go down that path.”

“Singing is everything to him—”

“Singing was everything to me,” Jung Jiyu snaps back. “And I thought it would be everything to me forever, until it took my family from me. Singing—singing’s fine, but the moment Jongdae started going down my path, it turned into a curse. And I won’t let him.”

“You not letting him is what the problem is right now—” '

“No,” she says. It’s a dismissal this time. “I’m sorry, Anna. I have a schedule tomorrow, and it’s late. This is between Jongdae and I.”

“Jongdae’s missing!”

“Then I’ll deal with it.” I can hear the unsaid words: you don’t have to do anything. This has nothing to do with you. They’re the exact words I’d been scared to hear the other day when I’d left, but for some reason, I don’t feel anything but frustration. She shoulders her purse, heels clacking on the floor when she steps forward. “Goodnight, Anna.”

There’s nothing warm or friendly in her voice. She doesn’t look back when she leaves out of the door, and then the worker comes up to me and tells me that the cafe is now closing. In a hushed voice, she then asks me if the woman had been Jung Jiyu.

I tell her it isn’t and then leave also. 

***

Jongdae shows up at school the next day. He doesn’t say a word to either Chanyeol nor me. He comes into class at the last moment, leaves the first, and is nowhere to be seen between during breaks. I try to catch him and ask about what his mother meant by that he hadn’t gone home, but I don’t even manage to do that. I have a feeling he’d brush me off if I tried, anyway. The thought—and the failed attempt—brings such a feeling of hopelessness that I want to give up. It hits me during languages class that there’s only four more days until our project, the one that had been responsible for bringing us together three months ago. Three months and forever feel interchangeable.

Chanyeol’s the one who finds me during my locker during lunch. He looks tired too, and his eyes are constantly flickering around as if he’s looking for Jongdae.

“Hey,” he says.

It’s strange that he’s talking to me so amiably. It’s strange that it’s him and not Jongdae.

“You look tired,” I reply, weary. He looks like how Jongdae does on most days. Absolutely exhausted.

He gives me a grimace. “I didn’t sleep that well,” he replies, then raises an eyebrow. “You don’t look much better.”

“Have you ever heard that you shouldn’t ever say that to a girl?”

“Not to a girl you’re interested in,” Chanyeol corrects, then rubs his eyes. “I don’t particularly care. We’re way past formalities and politeness, anyway. How was it?”

I look at him. “How does it seem?”

He groans, then shakes his head. “What happened?”

What happened seems to be too little of words to properly describe what happened, but I sum up everything as best as I can to Chanyeol. A group of students drift past us in the hallway, one of the boys glancing at Chanyeol with what looks like confusion, although the taller boy waves them off with a shake of his head.

Chanyeol looks dejected when I finally finish. With tired eyes