Ingredient #6;

Bang Yong Gook trudged through the hallway tiredly, his head bowed down as he walked; obviously almost completely drained. His mind was only set on one thing at the moment, and that was to quickly get to his apartment and crawl onto bed. He had just returned home from his practice and they had to repeat their choreography for over twenty times, curse the dance instructor for being a perfectionist. One unsynchronized move and they have to repeat everything all over again. He swore he almost punched Himchan for messing up at their 19th try—but he didn’t. He looked up once in a while as he walked, wondering why the walk to his apartment felt so long. He hitched his back pack up, forcing his numb legs to keep moving.

1013.

1014.

1015.

1016. He grinned as he stopped in front of his apartment, quickly shoving his hand into his pocket, desperately searching for the house key. Just when he fished it out, he heard his wife bursting into laughter. He furrowed his eyebrows but he shrugged it off thinking she was probably watching the television. As he proceeded in unlocking the door, he heard more incoherent voices talking, an awfully familiar voice talking to his wife but he couldn’t make out who it was since it sounded muffled and incoherent. He pushed the door open and stepped in.

“Ah, he’s home!” He heard his wife said as he kicked his shoes off, slipping into the house slippers.

“Omo, let me show you one last picture of him before he comes here to stop me.” His footsteps froze as he finally recognized the voice of his mother. But he quickly snapped out of his reverie when he replayed the words back in his mind, picture… picture… what?! He quickly dashed to the living room.

He was greeted with the sight of his mother casually sitting on the settee with his wife, shameful pictures of a child scattered on the coffee table beside an opened what seemed like a family album. He stood there, a few centimeters away from them, glazing upon them, wondering what they were talking about. And just then, his wife giggled as he saw his mother waving a Polaroid picture; not just any Polaroid picture but a picture of him . Yes, a twelve year old Bang Yong Gook, while—he squint his eyes—while holding a toy gun and his face was smeared with paint.

“Umma, you didn’t tell me you were coming, and that,” He pointed with his slightly trembling (out of embarrassment) index finger. “Why are you showing that pictu