세나: I stare at the big black bag on the floor outside my door, then at the grinning face who owns it. I look at it again, then at the owner. At the bag again. Then at the face. Bag. Face. Bag. Face. Bag. Face. Darting my gaze between the two objects on my doorstep, I proceed to ask, finally, “What in the world,” it comes out more like a sigh, “Are you doing here?”

My best friend’s eyes disappear into slits when he answers, “I told you, I’m here to study for my exams!” he picks up his bag, breezes past me, and puts it on a spot next to the wall. “Ta-da!!! And I’ve brought my study materials, too,” he proudly exhibits his other bag where the said items are.

I massage my right temple with a finger. “Okayyy, Yook. Just promise me you’re going to ace the tests,”

“Of course.” He winks.

Looking around, I sense that something, or someone, is missing. “Hey, where’s Peniel?”

“If you mean oppa, he says he’ll just follow. Hey Se Na, can I ask a question?” he pompously lies on my bed, spread-eagle fashion.

I open his bag where his books are and place them on the study table. “What is it?”

“Do you and hyung have nicknames for each other?”

“Nicknames,” I put a notebook on top of the books. “What do you mean?”

“You know, like you and I—say, I call you ‘Fire Tooth’, or, ‘princess’, and you call me ‘Jae’, or ‘Jaejae’. Like that.”

“Um…” well now that someone’s asked me about it, I shouldn’t lie, right? “I… I call him with ‘Penpen’, or ‘Penpennie’ usually…”

“How come I’ve never heard you call him that?”

“When we’re alone, I call him that. It’s even minus the oppa. I keep it as a secret.”

Sungjae, the massive shipper he is, squeals this yeeee sound.

Hissing at him, I counter, “Like I am the one who wants to call him that! He himself told me not to call him oppa!”

“Oh? Why is that?”

How do I put this coherently? Wait. The truth and nothing but the truth. “He said I’m too intimidating for a dongsaeng,”

He finds this incredibly funny that he explodes into boisterous laughter, much to the annoyance of my ears. “Oh my gosh, that was gold!” he laughs some more, so I proceed to the bed and kick him. Hard.

It’s a few minutes past eight o’clock, and, a few minutes after our skirmish the awaited guest arrives. Before that, though, I tell Sungjae not to drop any hints about me having a crush on his hyung, coupled with the threat that I’ll throw him out the terrace of my apartment. To this warning Sungjae nods his head docilely and even actions zipping his mouth.

“Come in,” I say to Penpen, when he arrives. I myself arrange his bag to where it should be, and, afterwards, I cook dinner for the three of us. I do all the proper things a host must do—arrange the things, make my visitors feel at home, not letting them do any work, et cetera.

When it’s post-dinner I tell Sungjae to take a bath so he could study with a clear mind, and he obliges. While he’s in the shower I sit beside Penpennie, who’s watching TV. “Alright, so who’s going to review Sungjae first?”

He takes his eyes off the TV. “It depends upon him, really,”

I nod once. “Right. Although, don’t you think we should fix a time-table for him? So he’d have something to follow. Time is essential,”

Penpen smirks. “Just Pyo Se Na.”

Sticking my tongue out at him for a second I reply, “That’s Pyo Se Na for you,” I get the paper and pen and start jotting down Sungjae is supposed to study. “So you’re going to teach him English,”

“Yup.”

“And I’m going to teach him Science.”

“Yeah. He can handle the rest.”

I turn my head to the direction of where the shower should be. After a while, I ask his hyung, “Does he study well?”

Shin minimizes the volume of the show, in respect to our conversation. “He does, like all students, but…with being busy and all, and sometimes he’d goof around, so…yeah. Just a regular student. Performance in mediocrity,”

I raise my brows. “Really? How about Ilhoon-oppa?”

“Almost the same.”

“Oh dear.”

He laughs. “But I’m sure your best buddy would ace his tests, because you’re his tutor, you know, and you giving him all your support…hah,”

“Why, thank you. And don’t forget you have a hand in this too.”

“Not as much as you do.” He responds. “But Se Na…can I ask something?”

“Sure.”

“Why…why wouldn’t you want to go to school?”

Sighing, I realize that this day was inevitable. That the curiosity why I refuse to go to school would be aroused, since practically every kid here in the country is in school. “It’s a long story,”

He looks at the clock on the wall, and smirks. “Well it’s a long night.”

“Whoa. Geez.” I’m startled by this. “Fine,” I roll my eyes. “Let’s just put it this way: I want to be free.”

“Free?”

If I tell you, Penpen, that I have this terrible sickness that could kill me anytime, will that be enough? That that is the reason why I don’t want to spend my remaining days boring myself with things that I can’t bring with me to my grave? Because, to be honest, I want to explore as far as I can go. I want to accomplish things that are out of the confines of the classroom. Or out of the confines of anything, at all. I’ve given up on life a long time ago. I’m just a walking corpse—I need no education, no degree, no diploma, whatnot—because I’ve focused myself to finishing The Lunch Box, both as Bo Mi and as its author; what’s worse is that I’m afraid that it will be my last project.  I’ve focused myself to finish whatever story I can finish, leaving pieces of myself through my writing, so though I will fade away, part of me will remain. I’ve already done the first part: let Sungjae inherit the compilation of my proses and poems. Because, even though you guys have come to my life, he’s the main reason why I still want to go on with whatever is left of my time. He’ll never know. He’ll never know that everything written there are for him. He’ll never know that it was him whom I was thinking of while writing those. He’ll never know that those are what I was doing just to distract myself from the loneliness caused by his absence. I could never bring myself to tell him that, but the act of giving him my works is just enough. I want to spend the rest of my life writing—write and write till I could write no more. Till I have no story left to tell. Till my hand, my head, and my heart are not in unison for my passion. “It’s…Penpen…it’s like this…it’s…kind of hard to explain,”

“But I’m pretty sure that it’ll be easy to understand,” he smiles reassuringly, warmly, and he puts his hand on top of mine in a (heartbreakingly) brother-like gesture.

Not betraying any hint of my internal bliss, I merely smile thinly letting out a small snort. “You’d think it’s idiotic of me to sacrifice proper education just for my passion.”

He takes in my answer, quite in bewilderment at first, but he then understands. “Passion takes people to different heights, Se Na. Nope. I don’t.”

“Really.”

“Really,”

Feeling at comfort, I shoulder on, “Actually, I know there’s more to life than just writing. There are far-greater ambitions in life than…this. But it’s what I do best, you know. And with this I want to help people out. That’s why I write for people. I proofread their works, write what they can’t. My life is all about writing,”

He seems to be greatly pleased with this, and by the look on his face, he doesn’t see my passion as something shallow. That tugs a string in my heart, making me—ahem—love him more, because people, or should I say my aunt, has always belittled my craft. She thinks it’s just a waste of time, making no difference from any other bad habit. And I’m hurt because she abuses not only what I do but what I am because that’s an insult—a mockery to my only comfort in life. “Just as I thought,” my seatmate says. “The four corners of the classroom shouldn’t restrain you from knowing what you want to be. Honestly speaking, Se Na-ya, I think it’s quite weird—”

“—you’re saying it’s absurd?”

Shaking his head, he corrects, a little alarmed, “No, no! It’s weird in a way because of the droll cause you have. I’m not saying it’s wrong; it’s just really…different. You’re productive in a way no person would imagine. And you still learn what they study at school, and…” he pauses to think of words. “Yeah. That’s it. That really is Pyo Se Na for you,” he giggles.

“That’s just surfeit-complimenting me, you know that,” I punch his arm lightly, happily.

“It’s true though.”

“But thank you.”

“Why?”

To avoid his gaze, I feign writing down on the paper. “You don’t think I’m stupid or something, for sacrificing education like that.”

“Don’t put it that way. You yourself had given me that impression. Ever since the first time we met,”

I recall when and how that happened. And then I remember, I was writing something during our first meeting, which happened a few months ago. “Oh, right,”

We let silence settle for a moment, and someone just has to destroy it.

“Ow! An ant just bit me!” Sungjae’s voice booms. “Geez, too much sweetness in this room; ants are gathering,” he snorts, rubbing the back of his neck and his arm.

Penpen and I both turn, and I don’t know which I should scream about: the fact that he’s violated his oath of not letting any hint of my ‘romantic’ feelings for his hyung, or the fact that he’s standing there…with just a towel on.

“JAE!!!” I scream out loud at him. Arming myself with what is closest to my reach—a pillow—I throw it at him, hitting him square in the face.

“Ya!” he exclaims, and to regain his dignity he stands straight. I squeeze my eyes tight although it’s too late because I’ve already seen him half- (news flash: my best friend has a nice body) and cover my eyes. “That hurt!”

“Wear a shirt you birdbrain! This isn’t your dorm!” I yell. I feel something warm covering my eyes and I realize it’s a hand. I know whose it is.

“Hey, you—this is the reason why Eunkwang-hyung sent me here. Put a shirt on that or something, Sungjae. Don’t corrupt Se Na,” Sungjae’s hyung says, calmly, but he laughs right after.

Even though I can’t see, I can sense Sungjae makes a face before he replies, “Yeah, right.”

“Is he done?” I whisper to Penpen, who’s still covering my eyes, ten seconds later.

“Not yet…” he replies. “Okay. There. You can open your eyes now,” he removes his hand.

Sungjae just sticks his tongue out at me and I give him the look which is easily translated to I am going to murder you in your sleep. Glancing at Peniel, I say, “Hehe. Thanks for that,”

“No prob.”

“Oi, Yook.” I call out to the creep who’s checking out his things. “We’ve planned your study schedule.” I get out of the couch and go to my bestie.

He sees the paper I’m holding and takes it. “Se Na, really, I can handle myself.”

“You can, but you can’t,” I say, pun half-intended.

“What?”

I roll my eyes. I don’t want to explain that. He can, but he’ll have difficulty. That’s what I wanted to say. “We’re going to start with the easy ones. Let’s see, right now it’s…8:30, so later 10:30 you should have finished a lesson,”

“On what subject…?” he reads. “On English? So it’s Peniel-hyung’s shift first?”

I nod.

“You two really planned this for me, huh?” he teases discreetly, so as his hyung wouldn’t hear.

Narrowing my eyes, I smile in sarcasm, “Why, you want to study your Physics first? I could teach you free-fall acceleration easily. Dropping you off from my terrace is just a piece of cake.”

“No. I’m good.”

“Excellent.” I say sternly. “Yo Penpen,” the other guy turns. I toss my head to my side where Jae is. “Your turn.”

“Aye, aye, madam,” he gets up from his seat, and we switch places. I’ll go watch TV.

And for the next two hours Peniel and Sungjae are busy reviewing for the latter’s exams.

Contrary to the schedule, the pair finishes by 11:15. That’s already late.

As soon as I hear the tutor’s first yawn I immediately say, “Ey, go to sleep.”

“I’m just yawning…no biggie, Se Na…” the older male replies dreamily.

When I look at Sungjae, he looks tired. “Jae?”

“Mnhmmm?” Sungjae looks up, his hand on his cheek.

I’m wrong. He’s tired and sleepy. Shutting my laptop, “Aish,” I go to where the study table is and look over the sheets they’re working on. “Is this all the lesson you have to study?”

“No…hyung is still reviewing me on tenses…so I could understand the other ones better…” poor guy.

I put my hand on the tutor’s arm. “Go. I’m pretty sure you’re just as tired as him,”

“But he has to—”

“—Aniyo. You can’t force him to learn this nor can you push yourself to teach. That’d be information overload.”

Peniel sighs, and stands. That’s a good boy. “We’ll continue tomorrow, Sungjae…” he waves slowly at us. “Mmm’night…”

I can’t help but laugh at how opposite these two are from their usual hyperactive selves. “Nightie,”

“Nightie, hyung…”

Taking the seat where Penpen sat I tell the student, “You too. Go to sleep.”

“I can manage…we usually sleep at 2 in the morning, you know…”

“Yeah but studying causes drowsiness faster than a sleeping pill,” I laugh.

Jae still finds this funny that he stifles a laugh. “You’re right…”

“What about this,” I pick his phone that’s beside a book. “We set the alarm at 5 am so you can review a little. Will that be alright for you?”

“Make it 4:30…”

“Okay,” I set his alarms on the said time, making the volume as loud as possible.

“I’ll just sleep here, Se Na…”

“What? On the table? But—”

He slumps his face on the brown surface of my table. “I’ll sleep there tomorrow…I’m just…too. Sleepy. To. Even. Walk.”

“Okay then,” I nod. Looking for extra blankets in my cabinets, I get each for my stay-in visitors. I drape one on Sungjae. “Sleep well, prince,” I plant a kiss on his forehead and caress his bangs. Despite of the trouble he caused today, of course he’s forgiven. He’s deep-slept already he can’t respond.

I unfold the blue cottony blanket and drape it on the guy who’s sleeping on the couch. Seeing him there I feel quite sorry because I haven’t prepared a “guest bed” for him. Why, never have I deemed that someone else beside Sungjae would sleep here. “Donggeuniii,” I soothe, though I know he can’t hear. I fix the blanket carefully on him making sure that every inch of his body is covered. When I reach his neck, I feel a sense of déjà vu, only this time with a different person—as he does what Ilhoon did: he holds my hand.

“I really like you…” it’s funny because I feel like I’ve been ground. “...calling me by that name,”

Gladly his eyes are closed. I smile, trying my hardest to be cool. “I can call you that then?”

“Hmm-mm,” he hums, and I construe that as a Yes.

“Good night, Donggeuni,”

“…are you going to kiss me like you do to Sungjae?”

Can I just have a break? Let me catch my plummeting heart first.

“I was just kidding. You don’t have to,”

I laugh stiffly. “Seriously. Go to sleep.”

Eyes open or eyes closed, he’s still as sly as ever. He doesn’t respond, but he gestures with a hand that I stoop down. Maybe he’s going to whisper something.

But oh my goodness, he doesn’t. As soon as my head is hovering over his, he kisses me on the cheek. Immediately, of course, I jerk away, “Ya!”

He opens his eyes, and that just embarrasses me more. “I kid, I kid. Good night,”

I narrow my eyes at him. “I’ll deal with you tomorrow, pal.”

“Good night, Miss Fire Tooth. Thanks for this,”

 “Fine. Nightie,” and, jittering, I get out of his sight. I go back to the seat next to Sungjae. Distracting myself with other matters, I resolve to pre-study his lesson before I teach him. Geez, Penpen. Since when did you become so greasy?

Soon enough, when I’ve learned the things on Sungjae’s Science subject, I myself fall sleepy. I follow his example. Later. I’ll just study this later. Resting my head on my folded arms on the table I take a nap.

***

Feeling like something is vibrating; the sensation arouses me from my sleep that, though unwanted, I open my eyes, slowly, and I have to squint my eyes because of the bright white light from the study lamp. Wondering for a moment where I have fallen asleep, I try to recall, and when I try to move, my neck hurts. My eyes slowly adjust to the light. Yawning, I get up from my position and stretch my arms, and I feel something falls from my back; I pick it up, and it’s a blanket. That’s strange; I don’t remember covering myself with one last night.

“Good morning, princess,”

Snapping my head to the direction of the voice, there’s my best friend, smiling, his eyes still a bit swollen, already studying. “Mmmorning, Jae. What time is it?”

“It’s already 5:23.”

I blink slowly, my eyes are still only half-open; add the fact that I’m Korean and I have small eyes—really, I could barely see. “How long have you been awake?”

“Right after the alarm.” He answers, rapidly writing on the paper with his mechanical pencil. “I was afraid it’d wake you up so I immediately silenced it. Unfortunately, that cost me my sleep and I had trouble going back to dozing off again. So here. I’m studying.”

I support my cheeks with my hands, so as to keep my head from falling back onto the table. Oh, he’s studying English. My blinking is still slow because I am still so horribly sleepy. However, I need to wake up (I’m waiting for my eyes to be fully open), because I need to study his Science so I could review him. I already know this lesson, but I need to practice more. Without really meaning to, I put my hand on my mouth and let out a huge, elephant-like yawn.

Sungjae chuckles, still writing on his sheet; it sounds manly and husky, and he scratches my back. “Really, you can go back to sleep,” the scratching is extra teasing to give in to the hanging sleep in my eyelids.

“Noooo. I can’t sleep. I still have to help you with your Physics, remember. I need to study too,” I groan.

“Se Na. It’s okay. Seriously. I can manage. Go back to sleep.”

I sniff. “Noooooo.”

“Alright then,” he pauses writing and glances at me. “Why don’t you make a hot drink so you’ll wake up? And make me one too, please,”

“Excellent idea.” I grin. I proceed to the kitchen and make two mugs of hot chocolate. Carefully, I deliver it to the study table.

“Thanks.” He takes a sip and sets the mug aside, and continues reading.

“You’re welcome.” I drink from mine too, and take his Science papers to study. Good thing my table is really wide; it’s like the table of an important person in a company. I made sure I buy a table this wide, so I’ll have room for my papers and whatever else I’m going to do while working.

The next half-hour my apartment is like a library; Sungjae and I are really quiet, save for some questions exchanged every now and then—conversations that die out easily as soon as the curiosity is satisfied. In the middle of my studying of vector quantities, though, a thought disturbs me.

You have something to say, remember?

I slap that side of my brain. Shut up.

You know you need to. You really think you’re still going to have another chance in confessing to him? If not now, when? You’ve been keeping that secret pretty damn long already, and the more you stall the right time, the worse everything is getting. Control the chances before the chances control you.

Dammit. Why did I have to have a conscience?

“Jae?” I swallow. Here goes nothing. My lip is quivering.

“Hmm?”

“Can I tell you something?”

“What is it?”

The room is cold, but I can feel sweat form on my back. My hands are turning cold. How in the world are you supposed to tell a person that you’ve been lying to him all this time? I try to predict how he’s going to react. Mad? Disappointed? Hurt? Worried? What the heck. I can’t even think of it. Or rather, I don’t want to imagine. “Look, Jae, I didn’t mean to keep this from you,” good job, mouth, you’re totally functioning without my permission. “I-I mean, it’s not like I could control it or what; I know I’m supposed to tell you everything, with you being my best friend and all, and you made me promise that I keep no secret from you, but,” I’m panting. It’s either because I’m out of breath or I’m too tensed.

Sungjae finds this funny, for some reason. “Oh, don’t cry,” he chuckles lightly at my tension, rubbing my forearm for a comic move.

“It’s,” I have Werner Syndrome. It’s a disease that makes me older than I really am—literally. Although I’m different from other patients, because the symptoms don’t show externally, my internal organs are deteriorating. My heart is failing. I’m frail. My health is vulnerable. I could practically die anytime. “I…Jae…” I shut my eyes for a moment.

He starts to sense my seriousness that he draws his head a little closer.

“I know…I know…I should’ve told you this a long time ago…but…” just a few more words, Se Na, you can do it! Although Sungjae will hate you afterwards. “I need to…say this…but…can you promise me something?”

Yook’s eyes are the paradigm of the mixture of confusion and worry. “Anything.”

“Don’t…don’t hate me?”

He  holds my hand, and grips it tightly. “Don’t worry. I don’t know how to.”

I manage to smile at that, because he still loves me, and he will, no matter what. After all he’s spent his life doing that, so hatching the fact that I’ve been betraying him isn’t going to mar that, right? Right? Right? “Jae…I…there’s something wrong with me.”

He seems to have held his breath.

“Sungjae, I…” I swallow, lowering my gaze. Now I don’t know if I should look at him in the eyes while saying it. Should I? Should I not? What’s the proper way of telling a person that you’re going to die soon? I take too long to form my sentence, so he urges—

“Go on. It’s alright,”

I sure hope so. “I’ve been feeling it lately. No; it’s been a long time. Quite a long time now. I—Jae—I—”

“What is it?” it sounds like  a whisper. Rough and soft at the same time; querying discreetly asking for a sacred matter, and in that voice I find absolute worry, curiosity overshadowed by anxiety, and, though I want to ignore it, it’s too obvious—fear.

Sungjae is scared.

“I’m…” I’m gonna say it now. “I’m feeling homesick.”

His eyes flicker for a moment, somewhat surprised. He digests the three words of my confession for a while, and, after fully comprehending it, his tight hold on my hand loosens, and he says, still a little worried, but now he seems amused. “Oh, Se Na. You’re missing Ahjumeoni?”

Kill me now. Just…kill me now. “You…you could say that.” I try to make myself look as pathetic as possible, because somehow, inside me, I hope that I can fool myself with my own acting. That the cause of my grief is this fake homesickness, that, no worries—it’s just some demoralization of some sort, but, no. I can’t make myself believe a lie that I myself created.

“Aww,” Sungjae hugs me, and makes sure that my head is on his shoulder. He puts his hand on the back of my head, whispering, “I know, I know. I was waiting for you to say that, too. I’m glad you said that. What do you say we pay her a visit when we’re not busy?”

Distracting myself, I put this thought into account. “I don’t think she’ll like that,”

After a pause, he says, “You’re right. Just don’t feel so lonely anymore, okay? You have the guys now. You have me. I’ve been here all your life.” He pulls out, and in his smile, he makes me believe as if nothing is wrong, everything is fine—and will be, because I have him. That’s the smile that’s been comforting me all these years. That’s the smile that’s been protecting me from the harsh realities into entering my frail mind. That’s the smile that’s so full of innocence—so full of child-like naivety, convincing enough to fool even the depressive-realist me into a future that’s promising, making my false hopes true.

That’s the smile that I love.

“So…” he puts the tips of his index fingers on the corners of my mouth, and stretches them upward gently. “Smile?”

You don’t know how much I want to cry, Jae. “Thank you,” I breathe.

“You’re welcome, princess,”

We stay like that for a second, until we hear a moan of stretching just within the room. We look at the back view of the couch and we see arms shooting up from it, and someone arises.

“Good morning, hyung,” Jae laughs.

I think he was about to say “Where am I?” when he woke but he sees us and he recognizes that he’s slept in another person’s home.

“Good morning, Penpen,” here Sungjae gives me a smirk.

He walks to us slowly, rubbing his eyes, and asks what time it is. He grabs another chair nearby and settles next to Sungjae, inquiring where they last left off, and what Jae is studying on. The two are in a good mood at the start of their day.

Jae looks relieved from his horror a while ago, and just when I start to think it’s okay now, I’ve just used another chance in a wrong way. I don't want to see that look on his face again so I lied. I’ve lied to him again. I wasted the chance, and I don’t think I can ever find another one. I feel as if my chest has gone heavier, and I don’t know if it’s because of the fact that my heart is ill, or it’s because of this invisible, but weightier burden. Now, more than ever, I feel worse.