iv. “But let's not speak of what might have been. Let us speak instead of what is. You are whole.”

—The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane

____

What I find, perhaps, the thing most noticeable thing about Kim Jongdae is that he’s nice. It is, after all, my first impression of him, and I think that he’s so nice and that that’s probably why everyone loves him, because he seems to treat every single person without discrimination.

But it’s not just that. It’s not just a matter of niceness, it’s not a matter of smiles sent to everyone when it’s so hard at that moment he can barely bring himself to do so. And so I figure that Kim Jongdae is too nice, and amidst that kindness is something else that wants to be let out, a voice that wants to scream no every time he says yes and one that wants him to say that he hates it even as he says he doesn’t.

And it’s right. Because each time he says yes, the desire to say the opposite grows, and each time he pretends, the more he resents. Others, yes, but most of all, himself.

***

The first thing I notice when Jongdae leaves is that he hasn’t finished his eggnog. It’s a pity to dump it down the drain, but there isn’t much left, so I do as I clean up the kitchen area (which, funnily, Jongdae offered to help with before I sent him off). It’s that moment when he leaves that my dad comes inside.

“Who was that?” he asks as I throw away the take out containers. “I’ve never heard of him.”

“I told you and mom before,” I reply, though when I look at him, Jongdae’s words about Seoul echo through my head. And all of a sudden, I do see how petty it was. “Hey, dad?”

“Yeah?”

“Jong—actually, one of my friends offered to take me around Seoul. For… sightseeing, you know. They said the tourist attractions aren’t the best places to go, so we’re going somewhere else.”

It seems to take a couple of moments for what I’m saying to properly connect to him, because his expression goes from surprised to delighted. “Seriously?” he asks. “Sweetie, that’s so great—”

“Stop,” I mumble as I grab my stuff off the table. “You’re still not taking me anywhere. You probably only know the generic tourist places, and I’m definitely not going there.”

It doesn’t phase him the least bit. “That’s fair,” he replies, though he’s grinning. “Don’t you agree that that took you two years too long?”

I shake my head and make a run for my own room. “No more, dad.”

***

The changes aren’t glaringly obvious, but they’re still there. For example, there’s no more of the passive aggressive tension every time he mentions exploring Seoul (or as he puts it, exploring my Korean heritage), and in fact, he stops bringing it up not because he thinks it won’t happen but because it might, and that’s relief in itself.

***

I don’t know about Jongdae, however, and whether or not we’re really going to go. Like usual, we don’t talk at school—it’s been two weeks since the project’s been assigned—and the only time we speak to each other is when we work on it or briefly in classes, and conversation is limited to only schoolwork. By then, I’m beginning to wonder about his offer of taking me around Seoul, and I’m not sure which was stupider of me to do: actually tell him, a near stranger, about it, or to have accepted the offer (when he could very much have just been saying it for the sake of being nice), or finally, actually having some sort of hope in it.

We meet up on Sunday afternoon again, and this time, we’re on the second chapter. To me, the question hangs in a thick cloud around me—maybe not to Jongdae, because I don’t know if he even remembers his own offer—but I still expect him to bring it up sometime. I chastise myself for it, of course, because it’s not as if I’ve shown interest in looking around Seoul before, with someone I know so little about no less, and it feels strange to be expecting it.

Jongdae doesn’t forget.

We go through the whole time without mentioning it (or I do) and it’s untouched until I’m slipping my stuff back into my bag. He does the same, but then pauses and glances up. “Anna,” he starts. “When are you free?”

I’ve been expecting it, or, more accurately, hoping for it, but actually hearing it isn’t the same because I nearly drop my water bottle. “Uh…honestly, all of next week?”

Jongdae pulls out his phone. “I have two games this week,” he replies. “One on Monday and one on Tuesday. Is Thursday okay?”

I open my mouth, shut it, and then nod. “Yeah. Can you not make it on Sunday again?”

He laughs. Actually laughs, something I can see, hear. It’s still quiet, but it’s definitely a laugh in comparison with the usual, polite smile, and I don’t even notice that I’m staring at him until he speaks again. “Not for Sunday,” Jongdae corrects. “We still need to work on the project on Sunday. But I said I’d take you around Seoul, right? There’s a night market not far from our school. Have you been to any?”

I blink once. Then twice. Then, “no?”

“Are you up for that, then?”

It’s weird, and I can’t deny that. He speaks to me like we’re friends, like we’ve known each other for a long time. It’s an offer I wouldn’t expect from someone I know so little, especially when he has no obligation to do something like that.

“Yeah,” I say instead. “Do I find you at the gym again, or…?”

***

It’s not something I’d do. If Kim Jongdae were anyone else, the offer would’ve been politely rejected and I would have continued the cold war with my dad in refusing to “appreciate Seoul”.

I don’t know what it is about him, either, that makes me look forward to it. I’m not scared that it’ll be a bad experience either, because Jongdae’s always been sincere and even if there are technically a lot of possibilities of what could go wrong, they won’t worry me.

And lastly, I don’t know what it is that’s gotten into me. I tell myself many times that we’re not even friends yet he’s offering to do something that’s a gesture that should be from a friend, not an acquaintance who doesn’t even know the other well. On top of that, it’s something that feels… burdensome. Not directly to me, but to Jongdae, and part of me is scared that he’s doing it even though he doesn’t want to, and the last thing I want to be doing is forcing him to do something he doesn’t want to do and moreover probably doesn’t have time to do. I make up excuses for him and myself—if he really had truly not wanted to, he wouldn’t have said it again. In fact, he wouldn’t have brought it up in the first place. But what if he brought it up thinking I’d reject, and had only done so out of courtesy? What if I wasn’t supposed to say yes? Then, I reason, he’d laughed. I’d never seen Jongdae laugh before. That must’ve meant something. The more I think, the more confused I get.

All of those I don’t understand. About myself, and moreover, about Kim Jongdae.

(I still find myself heading to the gym on Thursday nevertheless.)

***

The gym is just as noisy when I enter it on Thursday, but the difference is that when I look around, there is no Jongdae anywhere—in fact, there are a significant less amount of boys compared to the last time around I had dropped by—and then the tall one (who’s name, Chanyeol, always comes to me after I already recognize him as the tall one) sees me.

I walk towards the bleachers slowly, more hesitant when it seems that Jongdae isn’t there. What if he left? What if he never meant to go? Of course, it doesn’t matter that much if that’s the case (except it kind of does).

“Hey,” he calls as he passes the ball over to one of his teammates before jogging over to the gate that leads onto the court. “Go Anna, right? You sit behind me in Languages. I just realized.”

I’m not sure if I’m offended or not at that comment. “Yeah. I’m… looking for Jongdae?”

Chanyeol nods. “He went to change.”

Adjusting the strap of my backpack uncomfortably, I shift my weight and glance around the gym. It’s loud again now that the rest of the boys seemed to have gone back to practice, but I feel awfully out of place, especially when Jongdae isn’t here yet. Chanyeol definitely isn’t the same, and the last thing I want is to strike another conversation when the guy obviously hadn’t even recognized me until now despite having sat in front of me for over two months now.

“You’re the transfer student, right?” He’s still talking. “I heard you came from America.”

“Canada,” I correct, now even more offended.

Chanyeol gives me a look in which I can tell he’s confused, before he says, “Oh. It’s cold there, right?”

Stereotype or not, it is true, so I nod. Before he can say anything else, I see Jongdae’s familiar figure in my peripheral vision, and I immediately turn to him, eager to get out of the gym.

He’s trying his hair with a towel, apparently having showered, and changed into a sweater and jeans. Chanyeol steps aside to let his friend pass through, and he raises an eyebrow at Jongdae. “This is seriously the first time you’ve told a girl to see you at practice, much less twice.”

Jongdae smiles slightly. “I wasn’t even there when she came inside. That's not exactly showing off.”

Chanyeol rolls his eyes. “Dude, you’re too obvious.”

“Am I?” The answer is ambiguous as always, and I can’t be sure, especially when it comes to Jongdae. He taps Chanyeol slightly. “See you tomorrow.”

Chanyeol gives him a mock huff of irritation, mumbling something under his breath before he goes in the other direction again. Jongdae glances at me. “Are you sure you’re wearing enough? We’re going to be outside for a while.”

He’s carrying a winter jacket again, like usual. He starts walking towards the entrance, so I follow. “I’ll be fine. The hoodie’s pretty thick.”

He hums in response, and we go on in silence for a while before reaching the door. Jongdae holds it open for me, and, slightly miffed and more so embarrassed by the gesture (it feels formal, but not in a bad way), I head outside.

“How long did you have to entertain Chanyeol back there?” he asks as we walk across the school courtyard. The sky is darkening already, beginning to slight on a darker shade of blue as the moon makes its appearance. “He’s a handful sometimes.”