The urgent knocking on your apartment door interrupts you in the middle of making dinner. You glance at the wall clock, the time reading 9:01 p.m., and you wonder who could possibly be at the other side of the door at this hour. You aren’t expecting anyone this late at night.

You pad toward the door in your bare feet. A familiar face greets you when you peek through the peephole, though the sight of him standing outside your apartment door isn’t familiar at all. It’s so strange that you have to remind yourself that you aren’t dreaming.

You open the door.

“Junmyeon?”

“Hi,” he smiles. “Can I come in?”

“Uh…”

“Were you studying?” he asks, already taking off his jacket. “I hope I’m not bothering you. I should’ve texted first, but I kinda came here on a whim.”

You shake your head. “No, no. I was just making dinner.” You open the door wider and let him inside, bringing him house slippers to change into.

“What’s for dinner?” He looks around your apartment, his eyes eventually settling on your kitchen counter. A smirk creeps into his lips when he sees the pot of water over the stove and the noodle packs. “Instant ramen,” he says. “How very… college student of you.”

“Hey!” you protest. “I happen to like instant ramen, thank you very much. It’s delicious and it’s cheap.”

Junmyeon scoffs as he sits on the couch. “You’ve deluded yourself into liking it because it’s cheap,” he corrects. “Stop eating that garbage. Your body will thank you in ten years.”

“I’m sorry, what are you doing here again?” you ask, because you’re pretty sure that he isn’t there to just criticize your dinner choices. “And how did you come up? Mr. Bong just let you?”

You’re not sure if you’re seeing things, but you can swear you just saw Junmyeon’s cheeks blush a little. “Oh, your doorman let me up because… um, because he saw us…”

“Oh.” Now you’re blushing, too. “Right.”

You know that he’s talking about the night of your birthday, the night he drove you home from Esperanza, the night you kissed.

You still remember everything about that kiss, even the tiniest of details. You still remember how Junmyeon’s lips still had a faint taste of strawberries because of the ice cream the two of you shared before he drove you home. You still remember how his perfume smelled like lavender, warm and comforting. You still remember how soft his lips were, and even now, about a week later, a phantom of that kiss still lingers over your mouth.

It had been everything you imagine it would be, and more.

Definitely more.

“Water’s boiling,” Junmyeon says, reeling you back into the present. You head toward the kitchen and put the noodle squares into the pot. Junmyeon follows you, this time settling on a seat at the dining table. “I came here because… Well, I wanted to talk about that night.”

Your heart suddenly feels a bit too heavy on your chest. He’s here to lecture you again, isn’t he?

“I’m sorry,” you tell him.

Junmyeon doesn’t say anything. But you feel him stand up from his seat and walk toward you, coming closer and closer until he’s close enough that the skin on your neck tingles from his proximity.

“I’m not,” he whispers.

“You’re not what?”

“I’m not sorry.” You turn around, and the first thing you see is Junmyeon’s chest. He towers a couple of inches over you, so you have to look up to meet his eyes. “I’m not sorry,” he repeats. “God knows how many times I’ve imagined that happening. I know it’s a wrong thing to imagine, but it’s true. And I’m not sorry.”

“Jun—”

“But,” he cuts you off, “that doesn’t mean we can be reckless now. I like you. A lot. Maybe more than a lot. And I don’t want anything bad to happen to you, which is why we have to be careful.”

“I understand.” Truly, you do. Junmyeon has said it over and over again, that he doesn’t want you to get in trouble because of him and especially now that you’re just a few exams away from graduating.

After all, you know now how Junmyeon feels about you. I like you, he had said. That’s a guarantee you didn’t have before, and now that you do have it, it makes the complications more bearable.

“You only have about a month and a half left,” Junmyeon says. “After that, we’ll talk again. If our feelings haven’t changed, that is.”

You shake your head. “I’m afraid my feelings aren’t going anywhere. Not sure about yours, though…”

Junmyeon laughs, his cheeks beaming as he does. “My feelings don’t change so easily, either.”

“Are you staying for dinner?”

“I can’t,” he says. “I have to grade a bunch of term papers. I still haven’t read and graded yours, to be honest. Besides, I’m not really a huge fan of instant noodles.”

You playfully slap his arm. “Stop making fun of my dinner.”

“Alright,” Junmyeon laughs again, and you can swear that it’s the sweetest sound you’ve heard all your life. “Good luck on the rest of your finals.”

Before you can stop yourself, you blurt out, “Don’t I get a kiss? For good luck?”

The smile dissolves on Junmyeon’s face. He steps toward you, walking until his face is only a couple of inches away from yours. He cups your cheek in his right hand, the pad of his thumb brushing your lower lip. An electric jolt races up your spine.

But he pulls away.

“No more kisses until graduation,” he says.

You had expected this, but it was worth a try. “And after graduation?”

“We’ll see,” Junmyeon says. You catch the corner of his lips curling into a smirk once more before he suppresses it.

* * *

On your way back home from your last final exam, you run into an old friend at the convenience store you always go to after school.

You almost hadn’t recognized him. The last time you’d had a good look at him had been a couple of months ago, and that hadn’t exactly been a friendly encounter.

“Chanyeol?” you call incredulously as you approach him by the beverage section of the store.

The last time you’d seen him, his dark mop of hair had been long and unruly, almost covering his eyebrows. Now it’s bleached strawberry blonde and cropped short, like a military haircut that has grown a bit longer, the undercuts fading from the crown. Chanyeol has always been handsome, but the clean hairstyle has accentuated his features even better.

“Long time no see,” he says in that deep voice that used to tie your stomach in knots. It still does, actually, but maybe not as much as before.

“Your hair… Wow.”

You can’t stop staring at him. He doesn’t quite look like the Chanyeol you knew, but at the same time, seeing him look so differently floods your brain with so many memories, and surprisingly, none of them are bad.

Perhaps it’s because he looks like a better version of himself, the version you’ve only seen in the happy memories you have of him, the version you would’ve enjoyed to get to know more back when you still loved him.

You still feel something, especially now that he’s standing right in front of you, but you’re sure that it isn’t love. It’s more of a what-if. No other term can encapsulate Chanyeol better. What if.

“Is it bad?” Chanyeol asks shyly, running his hands through his new hair. The dimple that you had always found adorable appears on his cheek as he smiles.

“No, no. It’s good. It’s very good.”

Chanyeol laughs. “That’s a relief. I thought it looked horrible on me since everyone can’t stop staring.”

“Well, it’s just that… You look so different.”

“Yup,” he says, “that was the idea. I wanted to be different. Figured I should look the part while I’m at it.” He looks down at his feet, and swallows nervously. “Listen, um… I’d like to talk about a few things, if that’s okay with you.”

You stare at him for a while, trying to gauge his expression. He looks apologetic — sad, almost — and you can tell which direction this ‘talk’ would be veering toward.

But there are still some loose ends to tie up, and you figured that this conversation is long overdue.

You nod. “Sure, Chanyeol. Let’s talk.”

The afternoon is relatively cool for an April one. The streets are filled with college students going out to eat and whatnot, filling the air with the buzz of chatter and laughter.

You and Chanyeol have taken a table outside the convenience store, a rectangular umbrella sticking out of its center and hanging over the two of you. Wisps of steam rise from the cups of coffee you’ve bought from the store. Neither one of you has drank.

The tension in the atmosphere is thick, not with resentment, but with awkwardness. It’s as if the two of you have forgotten how to talk with each other. You want to ask him, How did we end up like this? but you already know the answer to that.

Finally, when you can’t stand the silence any longer, you say, “What did you want to talk about, Yeol?”

The nickname feels strange as it rolls off your tongue, like it no longer belongs there, but you say it anyway to show Chanyeol that you no longer harbor bad feelings toward him.

You’ve forgiven him, even if he hadn’t apologized properly, because that’s the only way for you to stop hurting. And it has worked. So far, at least.

“Right,” he says. “I’ve talked to Kyungsoo and Jihyun, too. About the, um, way I’ve been acting for the past months. I’m sorry about ghosting you guys suddenly. It’s just that… I needed a lot of time to myself. To think about the I did. I’m sorry if it took so long for me to figure out.”

“I understand,” you answer.

Not It’s okay or It’s fine or any of that. I understand. That’s the best you can give him — your understanding. You’ve forgiven him based on that, but that doesn’t erase the pain he’s caused you.

Chanyeol continues. “I’ve apologized to Kyungsoo and Jihyun about those things, and you’re the last person I wanted to apologize to because… well, you’re the one I hurt the most.”

The cups of coffee have gone cold on the table, and so has your heart.

“I know that apologizing doesn’t cut it, but still, I’m sorry,” says Chanyeol. There’s no question about the sincerity of his tone. It’s the most genuine sentence you’ve heard from him in all the years that you’ve known him. “I’m sorry that I led you on, that I took advantage of how you felt for me, that I didn’t think my actions through when I was with you. I just want you to know that it’s not your fault. None of it is. It’s me. It’s all me. I was too afraid of my own feelings. That’s the truth.”

You stare at him, your throat beginning to tighten.

Chanyeol’s eyes are traveling everywhere except on you. You’re not sure if you’re just imagining things or if his eyes have really turned watery.

“I know that nothing’s gonna change what happened before, and I’m not even entirely sure if it’s gonna change anything now, but I’m sorry. I’m sorry for all the things I did, the things I’m doing right now that I may not even be aware of, the things I’ll do in the future. I’ll never do anything intentionally that’ll hurt you, I just up sometimes. I’m pretty sure I’ll up in the future, too, but I’ll try to be better. I’ll try if it’s the last thing I do. I care about you. A lot.”

The awkwardness seeps back into the air. Chanyeol picks up his coffee, which probably doesn’t taste that good anymore, and takes a small sip from it.

“I’ve forgiven you a long time ago, Yeol,” you say after a few seconds of silence. “There’s nothing else to forgive. But I appreciate your apology.”

It’s true. What’s done is done. Neither of you can do anything about the bad memories you have of each other now. All you can do is move past all that.

Chanyeol may have done a lot of hurtful things, whether intentionally or not, but it’s not his fault that he didn’t love you the way you loved him.

“I know I’m not in the position to ask for favors, but can I ask one all the same?” Chanyeol asks.

“Sure.”

“Can we be friends again?”

You smile. “I’d like that. Yeah, let’s try again as friends.”

Chanyeol’s lips curl into a smile as well, his dimple making another appearance. “Thank you. For hearing me out. And for the coffee,” he says. “See you around?”

“You can’t stay for a while?”

Chanyeol regretfully shakes his head. “I have to study for my major demo prod final.”

You can’t help but laugh. “You are different,” you say. “You never studied before.”

“Never too late to start again, right?” Chanyeol laughs. “See you around.”

You nod. Chanyeol stands up from his seat, gives you one last smile, and then disappears into the fading afternoon. Your heart feels the lightest it has been for a while, and you wonder until when this happiness will be good for this time around.

Apparently not for long.

Your phone dings, displaying an e-mail notification from the last person you’d expect it from. The message reads:

From: CCU Department of Literature ([email protected])

 

Good day.

 

You are respectfully invited to the department chair’s office for a dialogue regarding a sensitive matter. Kindly reply promptly with the schedule that works for you.

 

Best,

 

Lee Yeong Hoon, PhD

Chair, Literature Department

* * *

Your heart feels like it’s about to burst inside your chest any minute now.

You’ve never been personally asked into the department chair’s office in all your four years in college, and the churning in your gut tells you that your first visit isn’t going to be a pleasant one.

Students only ever go to their department chair’s office for either one of two reasons: (1) to ask for recommendation letters, in which case they go willingly, or (2) they ed up and are in trouble, in which case they’re asked to go whether they like it or not.

You definitely aren’t there to ask for recommendations, so the only other logical option is that you’re monumentally screwed. As far as you’re concerned, you haven’t done anything to warrant the department chair’s attention.

Well, there is one thing…

No, you tell yourself. That’s impossible.

How could Dr. Lee have known? How could anyone have known? You and Junmyeon have been careful enough around campus. Heck, you haven’t seen him more than once outside of campus since the night he drove you home from Esperanza. It just isn’t possible that you’re in trouble because of that.

The shrill, robotic sound of a telephone snaps you back into reality.

The department secretary immediately picks it up. “Sir? Yes, sir. Right away, sir.” She turns to you, placing the handset back on the hook. “Dr. Lee is ready for you, sweetie.”

You can’t quite place the secretary’s expression. Is it distaste? Pity? Nevertheless, you thank her, and then hesitantly make your way toward the office.

The second you open the door and see who’s in the room aside from Dr. Lee, your heart sinks right through the floor. The other man is sitting with his back facing you, but he doesn’t need to turn around for you to know who he is.

Junmyeon.

He’s already occupying one of the two chairs in front of Dr. Lee’s desk, so you naturally go for the other seat. Your entire body has gone cold.

“I suppose you already know why I asked you here this morning,” Dr. Lee says, talking to no one in particular. Neither you nor Junmyeon respond.

Dr. Lee brings out a small, dark brown envelope from one of his desk drawers. He pulls out a single sheet of glossy paper — a photo, you realize — and places it gingerly on the table, as if mishandling it will make it explode.

Junmyeon doesn’t move an inch, perhaps because Dr. Lee has already shown him the photo while you were waiting outside just a few minutes ago. You straighten in your seat, craning your neck to see what’s on the photo.

It’s a bit dark and grainy, like it was taken on a phone from a distance, but there’s no doubt that the two people in the photo are you and Junmyeon. It was taken on that night, the night you sometimes still can’t believe ever happened. There it is, the first kiss you and Junmyeon have shared, immortalized in a photo meant to destroy the both of you here and now.

“This was dropped anonymously into my pigeon hole about a week ago,” says Dr. Lee. “The only people that have seen it are the people in this room right now, and my secretary. She opens my letters, you see.” He takes the photo, puts it back in the envelope, and then returns it inside his drawer. “No one will ever see it again.”

That takes a huge chunk of weight off of your chest, but it doesn’t remove all the dread.

Despite the anxiety simmering in your stomach, you manage to say, “Thank you, sir.”

Dr. Lee simply nods. The neutrality of his features is a bit unsettling, but it’s better than him being angry. Or maybe this is how he naturally is when he’s upset? That’s even more unnerving.

“As Chair of the Literature Department, it’s my responsibility to make sure that… things like this do not spill over to the entire Liberal Arts College.” He said ‘things’ with such dismay that you know he said it not because of the lack of a better term. Dr. Lee continues, “We have to deal with this on our own. Our department cannot have any more attention toward it, especially not after the scandal last trimester with Ms. Jeon. We have to cut off this problem’s head before it bites anyone else. Do you remember your Greek mythology?” he asks you.

The sudden question causes your brows to furrow in confusion. “Sir?”

“You were my student in World Literature 1. Do you remember your Greek mythology?” Dr. Lee repeats.

“Uh, I g-guess, sir.”

“Good. You will understand my analogy, then. You see, problems are like the Hydra — cut off one head, two more take its place. How did Hercules kill it?”

The answer comes naturally to you. “He burned the stumps before they grew back.”

“Good,” Dr. Lee says, his tone void of any emotion. “We have already cut off the head by not telling anyone else, and this is how we will burn the stump of this problem so that it remains beheaded.” He leans back on his chair, folding his arms in front of him. “I have already discussed this with Mr. Kim earlier, but for your sake, we will discuss it again.”

You turn to look at Junmyeon — the first good look you’ve had of him since you entered the room. His face is as rigid as a rock, his eyebrows scrunched together. He hasn’t spared you a glance, not once, since you sat down. He hasn’t talked, either.

Dr. Lee sighs. “Given your father’s position in the university and the fact that you are merely awaiting graduation, I am inclined to grant you the utmost leniency regarding this matter. Personally, I do not care about other people’s relationships, especially if they are of legal age, but unfortunately, my personal bias is suspended when I am acting as department chair. Because of that, I have no choice but to not invite Mr. Kim to teach at the university next trimester, or in the trimesters to come.”

Did you hear him correctly?

“You’re firing him,” you sum up. Your voice doesn’t feel like it’s coming from you; it feels like it’s echoing from someplace else.

Dr. Lee leans forward, propping his elbows on the wooden table. “My dear, I am not terminating Mr. Kim’s contract. I am simply not renewing it. There is a difference.”

“Well whatever you call it, it isn’t fair, it isn’t—”

“Don’t,” Junmyeon’s stern voice cuts you off. He throws you a pointed glance, silently saying, Please stop talking right now. He’s angry; that, you are sure of. What you aren’t sure of is if his anger is directed at the whole situation or simply at you.

He has the right to be furious at you, doesn’t he? After all, all of this wouldn’t be happening if you just hadn’t let yourself get swayed by your emotions and kissed him that night.

The fault is yours alone.

“It is settled,” Dr. Lee says with such finality that it’s hard to argue.

Unfortunately, you’d never been one to know when to give up. “Dr. Lee, please. It isn’t his fault, it’s mine. Please don’t—”

“Enough,” the department chair says. His tone has gone from neutral to venomous. “The only reason I am not taking your diploma away from you is because your father is the president of this university. One more outburst like that and I will no longer hesitate to forfeit your degree.” That shuts you right up. Dr. Lee then turns to Junmyeon. “It is settled,” he repeats. “Thank you for your time in this university, Mr. Kim. I wish you good fortune in all your future endeavors.”

Junmyeon stands up from his seat and offers his hand to Dr. Lee. “Thank you, sir,” he says. After the handshake, Junmyeon walks out of the room, and all you can do is watch.

What you don’t know is that it’ll  be a while before you see him again.