vi. “Someday you will be old enough to start reading fairy tales again.”

—C.S. Lewis

____

Kim Jongdae, I learn, has dreamed of much, much more than what he has right now, and not only that, he’s capable of more, but he doesn’t do it.

It’s hard to imagine him as someone who wishes; someone who once loved something so much (and perhaps still does) that he’d want to spend his whole life doing it. But he’s also someone who’s been discouraged from it one too many times to count, someone who thinks that they are what others tell him; useless, impossible, stupid, and perhaps he’s heard it so many times that he believes it.

And it’s unfair, I think. He’s so gifted in everything—basketball, academics, he’s good with interacting with people and he’s instantly lovable—yet what good is it if he’s good at it but he hates it? The star of a team he doesn’t even care about—why does it matter to him? Why does it matter if it matters to others, but to him, it brings nothing?

It’s unfair, and I know. And if there’s anything I want, it’s to do something about it. So he can learn that not all dreams are fairy tales for foolish hearts.

***

I do not see Jongdae for the rest of the day, and we don’t have Languages together. However, I do avoid Chanyeol like the plague because the last thing I want to do is to talk to him—I have a feeling that he won’t be very happy with me—and it’s as if he’s avoiding me too, because when I bump into him in the hallways, he acts like he doesn’t see me at all. It’s a huge contrast to the past two times, and while I’m relieved (it’s not as if I’d care about him talking to me anyway, and it had never been comfortable conversations in the first place), part of me is also miffed. It’s not like it wasn’t obvious before, but now even more so—he had spoken to me twice because he thought he could get something from me: once so I could get Jongdae to go to the event he’d planned, and once because I hadn’t done what he wanted.

It’s not a nice feeling, and the thought lingers like a bitter taste at the back of my throat, not prevalent but still obvious.

Then there’s Jongdae. When I’m not thinking about Chanyeol, I wonder about him—is he alright? What is he doing now? He had obviously been angry enough to yell, and judging from Chanyeol’s reaction, it’s not typical of him. I would’ve guessed anyway, but if Chanyeol, who’d known him for so long was surprised by the outburst, then it most likely meant that it was pretty bad.

I don’t find a chance to talk to Jongdae. Last block ends and I make a beeline for the gates, desperate to get out of the school and forget everything with a good night of sleep, but just outside the gates, someone is waiting, hands tucked into their pockets and hood pulled up.

I immediately recognize it as Jongdae. I’ve seen that coat too many times not to, and then it hits me that he’s waiting by the gate instead of practice, where he should be right now.

Two weeks ago, I might’ve second-guessed, but I’ve learned that there’s no way he’s waiting there for anyone but me. Really, there’s no one else to wait for, because most of the school is still at study hall.

Slipping past the gates, I approach him. The snow from the previous day is still there, though it’s a very thin layer, and it’s gathered on the grass, on the empty garden patches at the side, briefly on trees. The sidewalk itself is wet, although there is no snow.

Jongdae seems to hear my footsteps because he turns around.

He doesn’t look surprised when he sees me; in fact, I can’t read his expression. Instead, he meets my eyes—no smile, this time, just acknowledgement, and I think that I am fine with that. “Hey,” he says.

I tuck my hands into my pocket. “Going to the bus stop?”

He nods. “Yeah. Are you going straight home?”

I shrug. “I was going to go for the bookstore,” I reply. His argument with Chanyeol lingers in the back of my mind; I want to ask. But it isn’t the right time. “Why?”

“Well, my apartment is fifteen minutes from here, and if you’re free, we can work on it a little bit more.”

I blanch at him. “What do you mean?”

He tilts his head. “You said it’s a Canadian thing. Going to other people’s houses to work on projects.”

“Not a Canadian thing,” I reply. “It’s… a western thing? I guess? I mean, you seemed kind of confused when I first offered so I assumed that it’s not… common practice in Korea?”

“It’s not,” he agrees.

I squint at Jongdae. “So why are you inviting me?”

“Because you’re Canadian.”

It takes me a second to realize he’s joking, and then the corners of his lips lift slightly and he gives a barely-audible chuckle. “Seriously, though. I’ve been to your place so many times that it only seems fair if we switch it up once in a while.”

I shake my head. “I don’t trust you. Stranger danger.”

“Hey!” The indignant tone lasts for barely another second before he’s laughing again, this time louder. “That’s unfair.”

“Rules are rules,” I reply. “Strangers are strangers. The ones who smile a lot are especially dangerous.”

“I feel used.”

I’m laughing at that too, and Jongdae, whose expression has brightened since I first saw him, gestures to the bus stop. “I still don’t know if that’s a yes or no.”

“It was clearly a no,” I grin back.

***

I recognize the bus route we take—it’s similar to when we had gone to the night market. Jongdae is mainly silent throughout the whole ride, watching out the window with his chin in his hands quietly, almost thoughtful. It isn’t something I realized when he’d asked, but now, given the time to think, it seems unusual for Kim Jongdae. Of course, I don’t know what he’s like with his other friends, but I do know that he’s a private person, and while me inviting him over was one thing, it’s a whole different story for him to offer.

Of course, I tell myself not to make up rash answers. There’s still so much I don’t know about Jongdae, and it’s silly to pretend like I know everything.

Him and Chanyeol’s argument is still lingering too, a guilt I can’t quite get rid of, but I don’t know what I can do about it. He doesn’t exactly look like he’s in that bad of a mood nor is he as tired (or at least doesn’t look like so), but I don’t want to possibly ruin something by bringing it up again. So I remain silent, just like Jongdae, and keep it to myself instead.

True to his word, it’s around fifteen minutes when we get off the bus. Jongdae doesn’t say anything except thank the bus driver, and then he’s heading towards the direction of a group of apartments.

It’s a relatively wealthy neighborhood, and it’s extremely obvious. Not that it comes as a surprise, either; after all, his mother is supposed to be a celebrity. Of course, I don’t know that for sure either, but considering Jongdae’s lack of response every time the subject is brought up, it’s one thing that I don’t think is an incorrect rumor. The question is, now, who—a question which I don’t think I’ll get an answer for.

Jongdae leads me through a door into a large lobby. It’s much fancier than any place I’ve ever lived in, and I find myself staring at the high ceilings, the glass windows that are lined around the door. It feels more like a hotel than an apartment.

If he notices me gawking, he doesn’t mention it. We continue to where the elevators are, and it’s then that Jongdae finally speaks up. “When do you think you’ll be leaving?” he asks.

I glance towards him. “Are you busy?” I ask. “Honestly, whenever you’d like. Given that it’s not any later than eight, because eight thirty’s my mom’s curfew and she’s going to go crazy if I’m any later.”

He presses the nine on the elevator buttons. “Seven thirty? I’ll make you noodles. I think I have stuff in the fridge. I’ve been told I can make a decent jjajangmyeon.”

I raise an eyebrow at you. “You can cook?”

“Why do you look so surprised?”

I can’t think of any other response, so, instead, I just shake my head. “Didn’t expect it,” I reply. “And yeah, around seven thirty would be fine. If it’s too late for you, I mean, I can go earlier to. Whatever’s convenient.”

“Seven thirty’s fine.”

We lapse into more silence. The elevator goes up smoothly to the ninth floor, and I trail behind Jongdae, full of questions as I stare at the interior of the apartment.

Even the hallways are fancy. He walks slowly, almost as if he’s giving me time to stare, and I do, unable to help myself. It’s only when we arrive to the door of his apartment that he stops, and I turn my attention back to where he’s standing. I don’t think I’ve ever been in a place so luxurious, and to think he lives here…

The door swings open. Jongdae steps aside, polite as always, and lets me inside.

My first thought is that it’s such a high ceiling for an apartment, and then I realize that the place is impeccably neat. I don’t know why it comes as a surprise—the entrance corridor leads straight into the living room, with a modern, decorated kitchen on the right, and everything about the house hits me as neat, and that’s my first thought.

Jongdae shuts the door behind him. Everything about it seems modern, and if it weren’t for the size, I realize that the place would pass off more as a hotel than an actual home.

I slip off my shoes just as he asks, “Do you want slippers?”

I glance at Jongdae. “Huh? No, it’s fine. I don’t really wear slippers anyway.”

He gives me a look like I’m an alien before shaking his head in disbelief. “I keep on forgetting you’re Canadian,” he mutters. “I can’t imagine not wearing slippers on cold floor.”

“Hey, no judgement.”

He raises an eyebrow at me. “Yeah right.”

“I mean, think of it this way,” I say as I follow him into the living room. Like the entryway of the house, it’s also neat. I don’t understand how it’s a living space. It’s too big to be a hotel, but a showhome sounds about right. “What’s the point of taking off your shoes and putting another pair on? If you don’t wear your shoes into your house, nothing’s going to get dirty anyway. What’s the point of wearing slippers?”

Jongdae gives me another look of utter confusion before he shakes his head. He gestures at the couch—it’s white leather, looks more expensive than anything I own—and sets his o