Chapter 22

Step.
Step.
Step.
Step.

I stop, turn around, and take another couple steps.

I’m pacing. I don’t know why though. It’s supposed to calm down my nerves, but it’s not exactly working. On the contrary, I feel it’s only getting worse. Yet I can’t seem to help it, I just can’t stand still.

My feet keep guiding me to Daesung’s room. Once I’m there, my brain tells them to turn around, tells them I no longer have a reason to be there, tells them to go. But every other fibre in my body longs for Daesung. Longs to talk to him, longs to see him smile again.

Most of all, I long for him to be happy.

I have reached the door again, and I stop. My hand hovers over the doorknob, yet it can’t seem to bridge the last couple of inches it takes to open the door. I want to, but I can’t. I remember what happened to Seunghyun-hyung when he had tried to enter Daesung’s room. He got yelled at, and I’m not talking about a simple ‘get your out of my room’, but an extremely over exaggerated scolding. He’s tried several times since then, knocking the door included, but Daesung doesn’t want anyone in there. It’s weird, because he used to love entertaining people, and now he prefers being alone in his room. He doesn’t look depressed, nor does he act like it, so we can’t really say something about it. Youngbae said it himself; as long as he’s fine, there’s no reason to worry. But I know he does worry. I know he knows he’s not fine at all.

I then hear something thud inside the room. A small flicker of panic rises as I don’t know what happened. Next I hear the sounds of glass clattering. I take a deep breath as a preparation of pulling open the door, I’ll deal with the aftermath later. My hand hasn’t even completely enclosed the doorknob, or the door opens on its own. I quickly recoil before the door hits my nose, and I’m eye in eye with him. He looks awful, but I don’t comment on it.

“You need something?”
Daesung asks. He smiles, but he doesn’t fool me.
I shake my head, Daesung shrugs, and closes the door behind him. He’s carrying a bag. I don’t know what’s in it, but when I hear the glass clanking, I no longer have to guess; I know. Again, my feet follow him. He looks at me.
“You sure ?”
He raises one of his eyebrows. I know he is asking it in order for me to leave, but I just don’t reply.

Why should I reply? He doesn’t bother replying to any of the questions people ask him. They asked him where he’s been, what he’s been doing, what happened. He’s never answered any of those questions. All he said was that he’s fine.

Lies. Spinning lies. And that for someone who’s not fond of lying. It’s sad. It’s not Daesung.

I follow him outside where he throws the bag in a glass container. He turns around to face me.
“Why don’t you speak?”
His face looks worried, but his voice sounds hollow. Still, I don’t reply, I only keep looking at him.
“You normally don’t shut up,” he says in a flat voice.
He’s not asking me to start speaking again, which I don’t expect him to either. He may look worried, but I can hear he’s not. There’s nothing inside him that shows any concern for anything, or anyone anymore.

He shrugs, and enters the house again. I follow him to the kitchen. He pulls out some bottles of soju and then drags his feet up to his room. Even though there’s a thousand words dancing on