You tossed in bed, your throat parched, wondering if it was worth crawling out of bed to go downstairs for a glass of water. You cleared your throat, finally forcing yourself to leave your dazed stupor, your mind stirring as you realized he was no longer besides you. You grappled at the sheets, astonished that they were cold. You scrambled out of bed and loosely wrapped yourself in your robe before hustling outside, hoping that he had not slipped out like he had so many times before. While this was only your fourth month dating Seongwha, you were more than comfortable inviting him to the dorm for he had proven himself gentle, kind and affectionate, all welcome traits compared to the string of emotionally abusive or painfully nonchalant ex-boyfriends you had over the years. However, while Seongwha was your quiet Prince Charming, sometimes, he was too quiet, too considerate and he would often disappear in favor of long walks in the middle of the night or going to the school library at the most ungodly times of day for the sake of your space. He would always eventually contact you or come back to you, but always, the wait was excruciating. You did not want to infringe on his privacy, but you at least wanted to know that he was alright for you knew as well as he did that this world was unforgiving and anyone desperate enough in these crazy times was anyone dangerous enough. You had both dreaded hearing the school news about various burglary attempts, assaults, and kidnappings and while they occurred mostly after  large, publicized school events, you could rule nothing out, especially with Seongwha. He was a gentle soul and wouldn’t be able to hurt a fly even if it threatened to kill him.

            Fortunately, there he was, sitting in the relative darkness staring at the small Christmas tree you had erected in the corner of the living room, his eyes wide, yet emotionless. You crept closer to him, not wanting to startle him. You noticed the beer cans scattered about his feet like presents he had gifted himself and the TV that was playing faintly giving the illusion of company. You bit your lip but continued to edge closer to him. You glanced at the clock.  6 a.m. What could he be doing up this early?

            “S-Seongwha?” you finally whispered as you stood all of three feet away from him. He didn’t move to look back at you but continued to stare at the dim transitioning colors of the lights on the tree. He was simultaneously a small boy, charmed by the sparkles and joviality of the season and a jaded young adult who had seen and lived through too much to know what Christmas—or true happiness-- should feel like at all. You finally made your way next to him and sat down quietly before placing a hand gingerly on his shoulder. You paused, moved by how his eyes twinkled with the lights, but startled by how motionless he was. “Seongwha,” you tried again, staring at the tree with him. “Why are you down here? You don’t want to go back to bed?” you offered hopefully. He didn’t do so much as to even shake his head. You simply smiled awkwardly, wondering what else you could offer him or say to snap him out of this trance he was in. Not once did you think something was wrong with him or that he was creepy, but rather you kept thinking in the few moments that felt like an eternity, what more you could do for him to make him more comfortable. You wondered if, despite several invites before, inviting him over for Christmas was too overwhelming for him. You had learned with great displeasure that he had no family here and that he often spent the holidays alone. You began to wonder if he preferred it that way considering he had reluctantly agreed to stay with you last night and today when you initially extended the offer. “Seongwha, do you want to talk about it?” you finally implored, more than happy for him to go at his own pace, but just wanting so badly for him to talk to you, to let you in.

            “I used to think holidays like this were some kind of magic, that they automatically made you feel happy,” he finally croaked, turning his attention to a beer can that he began to kick around lightly.

            “Are you not happy?” you probed, disappointed, but at least thankful that he was beginning to talk.

            “I don’t know what I am anymore. It’s always so hard to tell when you’re just playing a role,” he confessed, unwittingly stabbing you in the heart that you so selflessly poured out to him for the last few months.

            “What role are you playing, Seongwha?”

            “You know, I didn’t want to be an engineer. It was all just something I could do to get on their good sides,” he sighed. “I-I thought that if I did something that they liked, that they respected, you know, made something of my life, then I would be happy, that I would know what it was like to have a family that cared for me and loved me, but what was the point if I was just living their lives for them?”

            “You mean your parents? Did they drive you to this?” He simply nodded. “What did you want to be instead? You know, it’s never too late to change your mind.” He shrugged.

            “I was never really told that I was good at anything in particular. I was always touted as the golden child only when my parents thought it was convenient for them. Other than that, they never praised me for anything that I did. They didn’t care for my writing, my art, nothing. They just wanted a doctor or an engineer and I was always too sickly to be a doctor. I got so tired of being in hospitals that I never wanted to walk into one for a living. At least I was given some kind of choice, right?” he scoffed, grabbing for another can of beer. You lifted your hand to his and slowly dropped his, looking him in the eye, searching for any sign that the Seongwha you loved and that undoubtedly loved you was still there.

            “I see, so you decided to be an engineer. I mean, you’re doing great from what I can tell. You’re one of the smartest people I know~” you lauded cheerfully to no avail. “I mean, I’m at least giving you that praise, but I know what it’s like to live someone else’s life, never really sure if what you’re doing or what you’re feeling is you or the person you’re living for” you insinuated. He looked up at you, baffled.

            “Wh-who are you living for?” you asked, squatting down to sit next to him.

            “My dead mother. She died when I was young and since she and my father had since split and there was no way to get in contact with him, I was put into the system. I have to say that I was one of the lucky ones, but it always feels like everything I do is for her, because of her,” you admitted.

            “That sounds pretty admirable,” he pointed out sincerely.

            “I suppose it is until it starts getting into my head and I start wondering if I would have been the same if she was still around. Would I have the same personality? Would I like the same things, the same kinds of people? Would I be me or is she somehow making her way into my life?” He nodded in agreement, pouting a bit as he thought about his own lot. “I mean of course, there is no external force forcing me to be who I am like there is with you, but I’m sure you can relate, at least a little bit.”

            “Sometimes, I wonder if it was better if my mom died somehow. She never cared for me. She was always too busy with her business, but somehow all she did was belittle me. When she sent me to live with my father so she could live the life she thought she had been robbed of by getting married and having kids, he wasn’t much better. We hadn’t seen each other since I was born so of course, it was like living with a total stranger. Sometimes, he was kind to me, but most of the time, he was always hitting or nagging me, the one thing he and my mom could come to terms on. They always wanted me to be something without asking me what I thought that something could be or was,” he divulged shamelessly.

            “But, with every bad memory, there has to be a good one somewhere, correct? Not everything is wholly bad, wholly evil just like nothing is ever wholly good, wholly perfect. There has to always be a balance, don’t you think? I mean, humans are so good at that. We always come to some kind of equilibrium after a while, even if that is a very long while. We always come to terms with our trauma and the happiness that can and does come out of that, right?” you pointed out optimistically. “There has to be something you are grateful for even if it seems like living with your father was pure hell,” you coaxed eagerly, awaiting any response, glad for whatever he was willing to give you though you expected the worst.

            “Like I said, I used to think that Christmas had