Trigger Warning: This chapter contains a mention of suicide ideation. If you're struggling with suicidal thoughts or feelings, please seek support from a mental health professional or a trusted person in your life.

   I had already forgotten the season this certain memory took place, but I would never forget the poem we read at that time. It was written by Robert Frost. After Apple-Picking. Perhaps it was the heaviness I felt, and I had no idea why I had that kind of impression toward a poem at the age of sixteen, but it happened anyway.

   Being exposed to that poem was like eating the forbidden fruit. I became aware of certain things I had an inkling I shouldn’t be aware of. The fact that I thought about death more than I should, for instance. Though I did not act on it, it would brush my mind every now and then—even when I was having fun. I was not miserable, but I did not mind dying, either. I could not bring myself to tell it to anybody, simply because I did not want to deal with the awkwardness that would follow after.

   Hey, I sometimes think about killing myself. But I won’t actually do it.

   How would someone respond to that?

   And so, instead of unpacking the root of my ideation, I wrote. I wrote, in hopes that it would finally make sense if I spilled enough words and created enough characters who would carry whatever it was I kept buried in my chest. Maybe if I personified my emotions and innermost thoughts, they would make sense. Maybe I could finally look them in the eye.

   I wanted to unravel, but I wanted to do it alone.

   Erid called. Like clockwork, he would ring my phone at the most convenient time, and I knew that meant he was the one sacrificing his sleep. I told him off, but he would shut me down.

   “Should I move to Korea, too?” he mentioned in passing. It was after he asked about the weather, and I mentioned that while it was not as gloomy in Seoul, the air was much crisper in Belfast.

   I scoffed. “You’re already well-established there.”

   “Ah, so you think I’m well-established?” he returned, and I imagined his brows were raised when he said that.

   “Yeah,” I admitted.

   A pause.

   “Are you not really coming back?” he asked.

   “Belfast…” I began, trying to choose my words correctly. “Belfast isn’t a good memory for me.”

   “Then you’re brave, Lia,” Erid remarked. “You were able to walk away.”

   Coming from Erid, it sounded heavy. His words did. It was an unspoken truth between the both of us, despite our limited closeness. He had it rough, and yet he stayed. He had to grow up quickly because there was no adult around him. I could only stare at the ceiling, then, wondering what to say next.

   “You can ask me anything,” he added, as if reading my mind.

   I cleared my throat. “Well, can’t you walk away?”

   “Hm,” his tone of voice gave me the impression that he was thinking deeply about it. “Should I?”

   “I think you can answer that, Erid.”

   “Will I have a place in Korea, then?”

   “Why Korea?” I shot back.

   “Because you’re there.”

   “Stop teasing me.”

   “I’m not.”

   Silence.

   “Lia, do you know what’s funny?”

   “What?”

   “This is the most we’ve talked ever since we met.”

   “That so?” I asked.

   “It is so.”

   I recently learned that the company also had an accounting and management team. Joon was a part of the latter. It did not take long for things to take off—from filming in the office to recording their album, it was a whirlwind of conceptualizing, translating, editing, and creating. Joon was responsible for sourcing the props and stylists INFINITE would be using for their music video, which was meant to be filmed in the early summer.

   For a three-minute video, a lot of research and planning took place. I spent the rest of the winter season following Joon’s instructions. The days flew by quickly—I received my residence card, and I was able to upgrade my data plan. I got my first paycheck, and Erid regularly called as he promised. Because of the NDA, I could not disclose what I was doing specifically, and he kept it at that. Everything flowed in a steady rhythm, and the next thing I knew, flowers sprouted from the ground, and the cherry blossom trees were beginning to turn pink. More people started wearing masks because of the yellow dust.

   Spring had arrived.

   For a change of pace, we went to Han River at night. Joon and Dongwoo were carrying a basket each, while Sungyeol and Myungsoo had mats with them.

   “Have you ever been here?” Sungjong asked.

   I shook my head. “It was too cold during the winter. It’s actually my first time.”

   The younger one smiled. “I think we also visited at a good time. It’s not very crowded.”

   “Now that you mention it, you’re right,” Sunggyu agreed. “Lia, we’re actually meeting another friend, too. I’m telling you now so you won’t get surprised.”

   “All right,” I said. “Thank you.”

   “This brings back memories,” Sungyeol began. “We used to come here when we were trainees.”

   “To run,” Myungsoo added. “Even when it snowed. Looking back I don’t even know how I survived that.”

   “You were in the Marines,” Woohyun interjected, and Dongwoo’s tinkling laughter filled the air.

   We finally decided on a spot that overlooked the river. The mats were laid on the ground and Joon and Dongwoo proceeded to take out the contents of the basket. A couple of cup noodles, a thermos, several bottled drinks, and bread.

   “There’s a convenience store nearby if you want more things,” Joon said. “Let me know and I’ll get it for you.”

   It was not planned, but we all sat there for a bit in silence. I absorbed everything, tracing each silhouette with my eyes as I reminded myself that every detail and every scent was real. I was in close proximity to the people who helped me in my teens. I was in a foreign country. I was living alone. I was alive.

   “The silence is good, right?” Sunggyu began, which earned a chorus of agreement. “It’s going to be very busy as we approach summer. Joon, look after Lia, all right?”

   “That’s automatic,” Joon responded with a smile.

   Just then, my phone rang. It was Erid. As always.

   I picked up and briefly said I was out with my team. He seemed flustered, but he ended the call right away.

   “You should have talked to your friend longer,” Sungyeol commented.

   “He’s not really…” I trailed off, not really knowing how to explain once I let the words come out of my mouth. “He understands.”

   All of them nodded, but from the way they stared it was obvious that they weren’t convinced.

   “Guys.”

   All of us looked back, and my eyes widened as the figure approached us.

   “Lee Howon, it’s been a while,” Sunggyu said, grinning. We all stood up and Joon and I watched as they closed their distance between one another. They gathered in a circle and placed their arms on each other’s shoulders.

   “Oh,” I muttered.

   “‘Oh’, indeed,” Joon said, smiling. “Makes you wonder just what those seven men had to go through to have that kind of bond, huh?”

   I nodded. Something tugged at my heart. My vision got blurry as I tried to swallow the lump in my throat.

   “They’re amazing,” was all I managed to choke out.

   I was introduced to Hoya, and after the pleasantries, we proceeded to eat. They mostly talked, and I was happy enough to listen. They caught up with one another; Hoya congratulated the six on their comeback.

   “There will always be a space for you, Howon-ah,” Sunggyu said. “We have more freedom now. Still, it’s ultimately your choice. No matter what you do, and where you do it, we’ll be here for you.”

   “Always,” Myungsoo said.

   “We came here to have a good time,” Hoya muttered. “Why would you say such sentimental things.”

   “The river’s making Sunggyu sentimental,” Dongwoo remarked. “Thirteen years…can you believe it?”

   We all fell silent.

   Thirteen years. It was indeed a long time.

   “Hey,” Sungyeol began. “Do you remember the thing we used to do in the dressing room?”

   “What was that?”

   Sungyeol laughed. “We used to read our fanfiction.”

   “Oh yeah,” Hoya replied. “The INSPIRITS’ imagination back then…”

   They all shook their heads.

   “It was really something,” Sunggyu finished off.

   “Wait,” I said. “You read fanfiction?”

   “Well,” Sungjong scratched his brow. “Someone would read them out loud. We would draw lots. We even had to ask Krystal and Amber to translate the ones the international fans wrote.”

   “Oh!” Dongwoo exclaimed. “AIOIAIOIOIOI! Do you remember her?”

   I nearly spat out my drink.

   “Of course,” they all said.

   “That kid,” Sunggyu shook his head fondly. “I really enjoyed her works.”

   “It’s because you’re her bias,” Myungsoo joked.

   “The main character’s always you, though,” Sunggyu shot back.

   “But you have the best character,” Hoya argued. “Always so mature and manly.”

   Sungyeol scoffed. “If only she knew just how soft-hearted you are.”

   “Lia, did you know we had to beg our agency’s staff to translate her stories for us?” Woohyun said. “We saved it on our phone and everything just so we could read it.”

   “You…enjoyed it that much?” I asked.

   “She had a way with words,” Woohyun began. “I couldn’t be too sure of her age, but I did appreciate how she perceived us. Her words are warm. Comforting.”

   “Those were the days,” Sungjong said. “It was much simpler at that time.”

   “I wonder how she’s doing now,” Sunggyu said. “I hope she’s happy and healthy.”

   “I hope she’s still writing,” Dongwoo added. “AIOIAIOIOIOI. That’s such a long-winded username, though.”

   “It’s our lyrics,” Hoya said. “From that one song.”

   “What song?”

   Hoya looked at me. “Julia.”