he struggles, faintly, to breathe

One day, a few warmer weathers ago, Howon and I had been eating ice-cream on a park bench, watching as couples passed by. At this point, I had still loved him, and perhaps I still do now.

“Would you ever date?” I had asked him.

He shook his head firmly. “That would be a waste of time. It would hurt them, Hyesoo.” He wanted to be an idol, I knew even then, and idols had a strict non-dating policy. Anyone dating Howon would, I knew, be heartbroken in the end, because he would sacrifice his love for his dream. Breaking up would be inevitable. “I don’t want to hurt people.”

I nodded in understanding. My heart had sunken, because then I still believed in us. Melted ice-cream ran down my hand and I wiped it with a tissue, displeased. Sticky hands annoyed me. “Do trainees date?”

Howon gave a cold chuckle. “They do.”

I waited for him to elaborate.

“Woohyun and Myungsoo do, actually,” He said. I remembered them vaguely. “It’s stupid, though they’re stupid, so I guess it makes sense.” He exhaled sharply. It was the first time I had seen him upset in such a way. “You know what I don’t get, Hyesoo? Why they would do that. I mean why, why would you make someone happy, only to break their heart later? Why would you do such a thing, knowing of your fate? They’re going to be idols, for God’s sake; they’re just setting people up for unhappiness.”

I let a silence cover us before speaking. “Maybe they just don’t want to be lonely.” I said in a small voice.

Perhaps that was the feeling that overcame me. Maybe I wasn’t desperately in love with Howon then or now, or maybe I was, but there was always the possibility that I was simply lonely and in need of companionship. Perhaps I desired what Howon could give me, rather than Howon himself. In a way, I thought, I could understand Woohyun and Myungsoo. Maybe they were a little inconsiderate, but maybe they feared loneliness. Perhaps they feared dying alone. I couldn’t be sure, but I didn’t feel as separated to their thoughts as Howon did.

Howon huffed. “That’s no reason to hurt people.”

“Loneliness can make people do startling things.”

But it wasn’t then anymore. It was now. I stood with the video camera Howon had given to me, dumbstruck and unbelieving at first. It felt surreal, as if I had been slightly separated from my soul, and that the one holding the camera right then wasn’t me. It took me awhile to regain myself, and even when I had still I wasn’t fully there. To this day I struggle to explain how I felt at that moment. Even touch I made was dulled, and it didn’t feel as if everything, including myself, was going to terminate soon.

I opened up the camera, going to the menu to look at the pictures. There was only one video on there, so I played it.

The video was shaky, as if the person who had taken it was scared. I felt as if the camera was peaking through a small opening; as if a door or entrance had been left slightly ajar. It was enough though, even to see what was happening. I watched through the eyes of the camera as it focused on five boys sitting cross legged in a black room full of mirrors. Howon’s dance practice room, I thought. I recognised Howon’s signature purple shirt. The other four, I assumed, were Sunggyu, Woohyun, Myungsoo and Dongwoo.

The camera zoomed in, and I watched as Howon inhaled a sort of powder, before passing it onto the person to his left. Sunggyu, I recognised it as. They looked a bit out of place; drugged was the most probable conclusion. Their cheeks were redder than usual, though this was indefinitely not caused by exhaustion. I came under the impression the white powder they were inhaling was somewhat illegal. This activity continued for awhile, before the video abruptly shut off. I assumed whoever had taken the video had been caught.

Words were caught in my throat, but I had absolutely nothing to say.

Howon, I thought. I watched the video one more time, just to make sure it was him, and then I deleted the video. There were things people didn’t need to see to protect others, and this was indefinitely one of them. Howon was a friend, and he still deserved his dream. I supposed he’d wanted some relief, that all of them did, because the world was cruel and they were too and the only way everything could stop was to make their minds go high and leave their souls alone for just a few hours. I could not bring myself to hate Howon, I couldn’t feel disgusted or confused or anything at all.

The next day I went to a park and smashed the video camera, putting the remains of it in the bin. For Howon, I thought. I played with my phone idly a bit after then, scrolling through contacts before I found his name. It wasn’t particular hard – I didn’t have many – though I found myself constantly debating whether or not I should call. I wanted to hear his voice, I supposed, I wanted to hear these words from him. I called him and waited until he picked up. When he did, I heard silence.

“I needed to breathe,” he said after a long while. It came out as little more than a whisper, as if he was frightened. This was the second time I had heard something other than stale honesty from his lips.

“I know,” I replied. The silence between us was longer than usual. It felt odd. I sat myself down at a park bench. It was a Saturday, I think now. The day Howon gave me the tape was therefore a Friday.

He whispered, “This could ruin me.”

And again, I murmured, “I know.”

“So why call me?” He asked.

I shrugged, even though he couldn’t see me. “I just wanted to hear your voice saying it, that’s all.” I adjusted the tightness of my watch. “Haven’t you ever asked a question just to hear the answer?”

I heard a surprised laugh. It was nice to hear Howon’s lightness. “Of course I have.”

I hummed. The sun shone in my eyes. It seemed that it would only stay for awhile before the sky would darken once again.

“Who took it?” I asked finally. He knew what I was talking about.

“A trainee,” Howon said flatly. “One who didn’t want us to debut.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.” Howon had said himself that trainees were very, very competitive – especially when their futures were still unknown. It wasn’t wrong of them. After all, only a small percentage of them ever made it, and all they were trying to do was reach their dreams. Everyone wanted to be the best.

I noticed that Howon never asked if I thought less of him. I suppose, in a way, he knew. He knew how I felt, and even though we would never acknowledge it, we both knew that this wasn’t the fate meant for us. We never spoke of this moment again; there was nothing more to say. I couldn’t interfere in Howon’s life in the way he couldn’t in mine. What Howon did to keep himself breathing wasn’t up to me, and if he really wanted his dream and was willing to sacrifice his health for it, I realised that, no matter how cruel it sounded, it was his decision and I had no say.

One day, I remember now, Sungjong met me at a shopping centre after school. He sat on one of the provided seats near a large clothing chain, a book in his hands. It was his, I assumed. There was highlighter all over the pages, pencilled in notes and creases on the spine. This made me smirk in amusement.

“Hello there,” he said when he saw me. “What are you so happy about today?”

“You,” I replied. “You highlight and write notes in your books.”

“I find it surprising someone like you wouldn’t.”

He wasn’t wrong. “I do,” I confessed. It was true. I had gotten into a habit of it whilst reading The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, when there were so many things I wanted to remember and so little that would stay in my head. The habit had stretched on til now. “But I find it amusing that you’re not afraid to crease the spine.”

He blinked a few times. A smile started to creep across his face. “Amusing,” he agreed. He nodded at the space next to him. Sungjong was sitting on more of a large cushion rather than a chair. I made my way to his side.

“Read to me,” he said, handing me the book he had previously been reading. I thought I’d seen it before.

“In a shopping centre?” I asked sceptically. It seemed like this was an activity confined to cafes and bookstores.

Sungjong shrugged. “I’ve always liked a girl with a good reading voice.”

I blushed then. I felt my heart beat, and for once the feeling of being in love was stronger. It was indefinitely stronger than when it was when I was around Howon. Perhaps, I had thought at the time, this was true love. Perhaps this is what it feels like to be in love. I suppose in that way, Sungjong was my first love. I don’t regret that, albeit a few things. I accepted the book and read to him.

Once I turned the page, I chuckled at the pictures. “Winnie the Pooh?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “It’s a good book for all ages. This is my seventh time reading it.” He added, “My first time having someone read it to me.”

I nodded, and continued on. I wasn’t a good reader, in honesty. In classes I often stumbled over my words. I would read some sentences too fast and others too slow. I didn’t have feeling in my voice, and I supposed the only feelings I completely knew of were the ones I felt in my mind. I read his story flatly, my voice inconsistent.

“Still like me?” I joked at the end of the chapter. Secretly, I wanted him to say yes.

He smiled back. “Your voice is nice for stories like these.” I flicked through the book idly, taking notes of the things he highlighted and wrote. There was a certain sense that he was trying to gain himself through the simple adventures of the characters. There was a sense of Sungjong on every page.

I chuckled as he stared. “What do you find so amusing?”

“The traces of yourself within your book,” I replied. It was like Sungjong contained into less than a hundred pages.

“You can keep it,” He said, giving me half of his world.

“Thank you,” I replied.

A/N:

I should be studying for Latin but my priorities are screwed right now.