Jongdae, his friend of many years, always made visits on the first and third Saturday of every month arriving at eleven in the morning and leaving no later than three in the afternoon. The journey back into Daegu could be plagued with unplowed mountain roads and highway traffic delays. Jongdae may have carved out time in his life to visit Junmyeon, but he still had places to be and people to please. Jongdae, his friend of many years, the only friend who still knocked on his door, and the only person who wanted to be with him after his retreat from the big bright stage of Seoul.

So it is for mainly these reasons that Junmyeon goes along with Jongdae’s thinly veiled probing questions as they move from putting groceries away and sipping on hot drinks in the kitchen to sitting in the living room that didn’t seem to have changed at all since the late 90’s. Above a TV-VHS player combo was a family photo taken just after Junmyeon had entered middle school. It made him feel better to know he had inherited his slightly uncomfortable smile from his parents and he still considered it a victory that they let their pet rabbit Robin (he’d named it right at the height of his Batman obsession) be in the photo too.

“I’m going to go poop,” Jongdae announced lazily after they’d sat silently judging the modern day cartoons playing on the dusty TV set. 

Junmyeon did not acknowledge Jongdae as he left. They both knew Jongdae used these visits not just to check up on Junmyeon, but to check on the house. He’d go through the bathroom cabinets and check under the bed for alcohol or worse. It didn’t matter how much Junmyeon insisted that he’d left all that behind in Seoul. It didn’t matter that the person who provided him such things in the first place was long gone. But because Jongdae cared, he checked anyway. He shouldn’t get mad at Jongdae for caring.

“Li Yin and I would really love it if you were to come over for Christmas dinner,” he said later, idly flipping through an appliance catalogue. “It would be just the three of us.” Junmyeon looked up from where he was curled on the couch reading a book about Himalayan culture but looked down before electing to speak. 

“That’s alright. I’m all set here.” He worried his bottom lip as he heard Jongdae let out a sigh that was less controlled than his friend probably thought it was. His watch read 2:37 PM. “I think it’s about time you get going for the day.”

That did not come out the way Junmyeon had intended. It just slipped because while his friend might be small in stature, his presence in his living room was growing to be all encompassing. He really, really just needed things to be quiet right now. He really, really did not want to have this conversation. 

“You can’t keep living like this, Junmyeon!”

“Well maybe you should’ve just let me die!”

That wasn’t right. He shouldn’t have said that. Junmyeon looked up at the family portrait then over at the faded floral curtains that blocked all of what existed beyond. 

“I’m sorry,” Junmyeon whispered. “I didn’t mean that.”

Jongdae ran his fingers through his hair in the way he did whenever he raised his voice by accident and a little part of Junmyeon wilted inside when his friend put his business face on instead. The same face he did while presenting his thesis in school.

“We want you to be the godfather to our child.” Junmyeon first looked at Jongdae with surprise before his face flushed with embarrassment. Once again the implications remained unsaid. “You’re family, you know that right?”   

“I just need more time,” he said. Perhaps it was because he conveyed enough desperation in his tone or perhaps Jongdae was just tired. In less than five months Jongdae would be a father. He no doubt wanted his child to be born into the most perfect world he could manage. The last thing Junmyeon wanted to be was a blemish on that world. A secret sequestered away in this old home. 

“I know. That’s alright.”

***

Junmyeon theorized that due to the location of his home, he was most likely the last stop on the mail route. Each day he would hear the sound of the mail truck making its way down the road just after four in the afternoon. The mail usually consisted of catalogues to places his parents ordered from once a decade ago and bills. The letters of condolence and well wishes had slowly petered off. Theater was about living in the moment, after all. Junmyeon was last season’s tragedy. Now he was probably all but forgotten.

At twelve past four, he could hear the sound of the mail truck making its way up the road. Two minutes later, unexpectedly, his doorbell rang. Junmyeon scurried downstairs half convinced he had been hearing things but just as he rounded the corner his doorbell rang again.

“Hello! Mr. Kim Junmyeon?” he heard a muffled voice call out. “There is a package you need to sign for!”

He went into the kitchen and took a peek through the curtains. Out on his doorstep was a mailman in what might be the puffiest winter coat he’d ever seen balancing a decently sized box in his arms with some catalogues and other junk mail on top. The man apparently caught the movement, turning his head to meet his eyes through the glass. He shakily managed to free one of his hands to wave, quickly putting it back when the things in his arms got off balance. “Can you open the door?” he called out again.

Junmyeon shuffled to the front door which somehow seemed a lot bigger when he knew it wasn’t Jongdae on the other side. He took a deep breath and opened it anyway just in time to catch the package tumbling forward out of the mailman’s hands as he moved an equally puffy glove to slap over his nose. For a moment Junmyeon was confused until he saw blood slide past the grip.

The mailman’s nose was bleeding.

“Oh my goodness! I’m so sorry Mr. Kim Junmyeon! This always happens to me in the winter. I have tissues in the truck! I was-”

“Come inside.”

In the time it took the man to consider Junmyeon’s offer, bouncing on his toes as he did so, it also dawned on Junmyeon what words had actually come from his mouth. He knew it had everything to do with how he’d been mulling over Jongdae’s words these past few days and reading lots of articles on the internet about the importance of role models for young children. This was his mouth trying to prove something before his mind caught up.

The mailman awkwardly stepped over all the mail he’d dropped and crossed the threshold into Junmyeon’s home, lingering on the entry mat obviously not quite sure what to do with himself. He was quite bundled up from his hat to his snow boots so he stayed there while Junmyeon rushed to the kitchen to fetch tissues and a damp dish towel. 

Without any additional words, he pressed the tissues into the mailman’s hand and waited until he had arranged himself enough to take the cloth to place over his forehead, cooling him down.

“Thank you, Mr. Kim Junmyeon. You are very kind and have a very beautiful home.”

“It’s no problem.” He brought his hands up to the back of his neck to calm himself. There was a stranger in his house. The mailman of all people. But maybe it was Junmyeon’s presumption that this mailman had probably been coming to his house six days a week ever since he moved back in which made him one half step above a stranger made the situation less nerve wracking. 

After several minutes passed, the mailman scrunched his nose then rolled up his last bit of tissue to then stay nestled in his nostril. For someone who kept such a steady schedule, delaying here so long probably was not a good thing. Once he got himself put back together, Junmyeon signed for his package.

“I will need to repay you sometime for helping me, Mr. Kim Junmyeon. Until then, have a nice day!” 

The mailman rushed off waddling back to his truck. 

He never offered Junmyeon a name.

***

The package return address was a familiar one but even if Junmyeon had somehow forgotten, the box itself was a reused one with the familiar markings of the Seoul Ballet Theatre on the side. Having the neighborhood mailman in his home was probably already enough adventure for one day but keeping his composure for that entire interaction made Junmyeon a little more proud than what was probably warranted for such an event. 

He cut open the box in his kitchen and the first thing he saw was a note. 

“Thinking of you this holiday season, your theater home. - Bae Joohyun.”

Of course out of all people it would be Joohyun, the dancer who had in all likelihood singlehandedly convinced the rest of the ballet company to not chew up Junmyeon and spit him out during his first few weeks on the job as a stage management apprentice and shop assistant. 

Beneath the note were a collection of DVDs, all plain disks labeled with black marker. He collected a few in his hands. 

“Don Quixote, 2014-2015 Season.”

“Romeo and Juliet, 2017-2018 Season.” 

“Giselle, 2013-2014 Season.”

“Nutcracker, 2012-2013 Season.”

It was all the productions he’d ever worked on. From the beginning.

He rushed to bring down his laptop and inserted The Nutcracker from 2012, his first year and third show with the company. Holding his breath, he pressed play.

It wasn’t professional. It looked like something an intern probably made on iMovie though with some thought, it was probably their Production Manager’s quirky attempt at spicing up her standard archiving procedure. For anyone who had spent any amount of time working with a ballet company, The Nutcracker was both a blessing and a curse. It was a blessing because the whole show ran like clockwork, the pressure of brand new production mishaps completely out of mind. It was a curse because no matter what you couldn’t escape it. It would happen every single season in every single company probably all over the world. For first timers it was a rite of passage. For everyone else it was a procedure made better by the Christmas treats that would appear periodically outside the administrative offices. 

And there he was on screen, twenty-six years old, timidly looking over the rehearsal space markings and comparing it with his production notes. But in a flash he was gone, the montage of the rehearsal process continuing. 

He paused the video and took out the DVD. He felt nauseous. Invaded. He did not ask for this. He did not need it forced upon him.

Rushing to close up the box, he paused holding it over the trash can. But no. That was not good enough. He turned around and headed straight for his back door, dropping it into the snow. It was only then he realized how uneven his breathing was and how his eyes burned. Ahead of him was his dad’s old tool shed and not too many paces beyond it, the treeline. The box at his feet still managed to radiate heat in his mind. Each branch and twig on the trees was like all the spectators sitting in their seats, flooding the lobby, blocking the street. His arm itched, the phantom feeling of needles piercing his skin.

Junmyeon managed to make it back to the kitchen sink before vomiting.

He slid to the floor and would remain there for a long time.