“Please state your name for the record.”

I played with the sleeve of my thick sweater, trying to pull it over my hand, digging my fingers into the knitted garment until they began to create small holes. I ignored the man seated at the opposite end of the table, instead choosing to stare off into the space just to the left of his head, wondering if I could count the number of yellowing tiles that made up the wall behind him.

He sighed, a feeling of exhaustion and annoyance creeping over his face. It was late, or at least I’d assumed it was, there weren’t really any windows in the room and I had no idea how long we’d been in there but I could only guess that it had been a couple of hours. This game of him trying to get me to speak and me staying silent was growing tiring for the both of us, it seemed, and we had already gone through this process repeatedly for a few days, me staying mute the entire time. But really, he already knew my name; wasn’t this getting a little old?

He seemed to have the same thoughts as I did, as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and trying to make eye contact with me. “Do you know why you’re here?” Ah, so he was resorting to his second favorite question. I kept up my doll-like composure, merely staring past him with glassy eyes, carefully keeping my body as unresponsive as possible. He must have thought I was insane, with the way I would sit on the chair, knees pulled up to my chest and feet balancing on the edge, pulling at my sleeve and biting at my lip until both became worn and frayed.

He let out another sigh, only the millionth of the day, and opened his mouth again. I could tell, he’d lost his patience, not that I blamed him. He looked at me carefully, cautiously, and I had a feeling that I knew what was coming next, his favorite question, the one he had avoided asking me since the first day when it threw me into fits of delirious panic. He pulled his arms back, placing his hands on the edge of the table as if he were bracing himself. I inwardly did the same, wrapping my arms around my tucked in knees, gripping my body until my knuckles whitened. I wouldn’t freak out, I told myself, not like I did before. I was weaker then, still in shock, in my frayed mental state. I told myself to be stronger, to ignore the anxiety that was already creeping up in my chest.

He noted the response with interest, and prepared himself. “Do the names Byun Baekhyun and Wu Fan mean anything to you?”

I dug my fingers tighter into my flesh. No, no they didn’t, I told myself.

I couldn’t tell if the man was stupid, cruel, or just really wanted to move on with this redundant process, as he reached into the file on the corner of the table and placed two photographs in front of me.

I let my eyes wander to the glossy images, flinching when I recognized two boys, one with the soft eyes of a puppy and the other with cold, perfectly sculptured features. They were old pictures, probably dragged up from the photo albums of friends or family, but they painted the two in such a contrasting light. Anyone who didn’t know them would look at the pictures and see the one as kind and happy and the other as angry and cold-hearted. I knew better, their lives weren’t painted in such shades of grey.

“I’m going to ask you one more time, Chanyeol,” Ah, see? He did know my name. “Do you know why you’re here?”