He has never been normal.  Left leg a disfigured hand’s difference from the right, and the doctor says his kneecaps are wearing away faster than normal.  Too fast.  Nicotine during pregnancy is damaging, doctor drones on, but Myungsoo already knows that.  So he stares straight up where supposedly the shade of baby blue fades into peeling whitewash until all the obligatory explanations are over.

By the time mother and son leave the hospital, the occasional street lamps spill yellow light on damp pavements.  His wheelchair rolls homebound in double time; it’s darker than usual.  Myungsoo doesn’t notice.

Sungyeol from next door comes over for dinner – to get acquainted, is his father’s harried excuse.  No one mentions the new jagged line adorning his jaw, the line Myungsoo doesn’t see.  Later, Sungyeol catches Myungsoo’s six- hand and guides the extra finger over the contours of his face.

Myungsoo thinks his face is a lot like the wall he abuses, but he doesn’t say so.  Instead, he asks if his guest wants to see stars.  There is a startled pause, then assent. 

All Sungyeol says once they are spread out on the uneven tiles is the stars aren’t really bright.  Somehow, they fall asleep on the roof, a tangle of limbs and unspoken understanding that speaks volumes.

In the weeks that follow, the rooftop becomes theirs, the safe haven Sungyeol returns to in between school, gangly limbs scaling it from the adjacent window ledge, the summit Myungsoo willingly clenches his teeth until the taste of iron fills his mouth and he feels the wavy curve of tiles beneath him.  It doesn’t occur to him that he might fall.

The revelation of Kim Myungsoo, child prodigy and Asian Einstein, is an accident.  Unintended.  Unwanted. 

Stars twinkle dully above Sungyeol as he is sworn to secrecy.

Promises don’t last; never did, never will.  Sungyeol only remembers the stained off-white tiles – how different from the roof’s – as he hears a voice vaguely resembling his spit out everything along with bright red blood.

What does it matter why you said it, Myungsoo’s incoherent screams echoes in the sparse living room, The point is that you did and I don’t want to see you again.  Bowls shatter as they connect with the wall above Sungyeol, raining his cowering self with wasted rice grains and ceramic promises.  Vases of daffodils and framed photographs follow.

His parents almost call the police when they arrive home to the mess of brokenness.  It’s okay though, because they find the boys curled up into each other on the roof.

His visits become fewer and further apart.  The last Myungsoo hears, Sungyeol’s father is in jail, and he’s doing unexpectedly well in school (that’s only half the truth though he chooses to overlook the fact).  After that, the connection between them is stretched thin as the truck carrying them and their belongings swallow mile after mile, until the bond snaps.

Even then, it’s not a clean break.

Amidst late night coffee runs and hectic wired cramming, Sungyeol remembers a beautiful boy.  The last he’s heard of him is the hollow sound of his knuckles rapping against the window of an empty room and the halted breaths he takes every time he passes by next door.

Memories of rust-coloured wavy tiles and sixth fingers soon are swept away in the sea of Tomorrow.

Something about the new student’s name jerks Sungyeol’s head up from the notebook he was doodling fountain pen sketches on.  It sounds familiar, yet nobody comes to mind as he searches the new face for a clue.  Perfect straight nose, soft lips, piercing irises surveying the room, dimples appearing the second their eyes meet – Sungyeol hears the row of girls sitting in front of him swoon, suppressed squealing over those striking looks.

Everyone watches as their new classmate strides up the lecture theatre rows – was it his imagination or was there a subtle dip in every step, favouring the right leg more? – and settles into the empty seat beside Sungyeol.  The seat was usually occupied by Howon, absent today, and Sungyeol politely tells Kim Myungsoo but you can call me L, short for Lawliet since people said I resemble him as much.  He doesn’t pursue the matter when Myungsoo pulls out a notebook and pretends he hasn’t heard.

For the rest of the lesson, the fountain pen hovers on the same spot between niggling memories and rigid discomfort, ink pooling and seeping through the pages (he doesn’t notice).

Technically speaking it is Myungsoo who trails Sungyeol to lunch.  To any bystander it is the other way around; the newcomer asserts almost unconsciously and each clean cut action is carried out with absolute certainty.

They end up in a quiet spot behind the main building.  At once, the peace is dispelled.  Myungsoo won’t, or can’t, shut his mouth, strings of senseless jumble falling over one another in their haste, simultaneously controlled and chaotic.  And Sungyeol lets the words flow past him on undercurrents, simply losing himself in a whirlpool of amusing anecdotes, laughing at all the right times, nodding at all the right places.  Being the listener for a change is refreshing he thinks, dropping cross-legged onto a carpet of gold, brown and red leaves.

Not waiting for an invitation, Myungsoo follows suit except a fraction more ungainly in an unpracticed movement.  As though it were his first time.  He discreetly copies: knees bent inwards (he hopes the wince goes unnoticed), right foot tucked under left thigh, left foot sliding beneath right thigh where it fits perfectly.

Half-listening to the continuous chatter, Sungyeol recalls flashes of a past left to gather dust in a corner resurfacing in a ruined grainy film stuttering out snatches of conversation and fragments of scenes at a time.  A beautiful boy.

If Howon has any objections to their new arrangements, he doesn’t voice it.

To his credit, he goes out of his way to make Hi I’m Sungyeol’s friend and you can call me L feel at home by cracking bawdy jokes – none of which the boy understands.  Dense as he is, Howon gets the signal.  He excuses himself because I need to discuss dance stuff with Dongwoo and leaves the duo to their own devices.

Myungsoo finishes talking about Bell’s Palsy and begins an introduction to stars at length.  Propping up his chin – picnic table today – Sungyeol allows his subconscious to float away on the gentle waves that is Myungsoo’s monologue.  How much he knows, just like a genius.

An astronomy project brings Myungsoo to his home.

He’s too busy trying to remember if he has bothered to clean up the shoebox flat last night to see his guest halt imperceptibly one door before his.  Then a wave of panic rises maybe Father’s back but breaks against his ribcage into nothing more than foam when, upon opening the door, a presentable sight greets them.  Sungyeol nearly laughs aloud with relief; it vaguely comes back to him, the torturous hour he spent clearing away empty ramyun cups and abandoned cigarette butts.  The sacrifice of some sleep had produced some form of return after all.

Myungsoo runs a finger along the uneven surface of the wall, specks of whitewash sticking to the ridges, and he blocks away the memories. 

So this is your house; this is how you live he wants to say but the comment won’t leave the top of his tongue.  Instead, he pretends not to see his host nudge a couple of brown tinted bottles under the couch.

Old springs protest loudly as Myungsoo drops into the torn couch.  Only when the lanky form of Sungyeol disappears through the narrow kitchen doorway does he let pain from walking the long distance show in a contorted expression.  If he didn’t know any better, it seems like his foot will fall off.  The moment Sungyeol reappears with two glasses of water unless you prefer beer (said with eyes glinting playfully and makes forgetting the rhythmic throbbing in the base of his foot a whole lot easier), the mask of L slides in place too naturally.

A salient silence rests on them, both unnerving and comfortable. 

Sungyeol thinks Myungsoo is a lot like a rainforest’s rain which on the rare occasion it ceases, all is far too quiet, but he doesn’t voice it out.  Instead, he finds himself asking if his guest wants to see stars.  There is a startled hesitation, then assent.

All Myungsoo can say once they are spread out on the uneven tiles is the stars aren’t really bright and there is a hint of irrevocable disappointment miles too deep for Sungyeol to fathom.  The feeling of déjà vu furrows his brows, trying to recall the shadow of a memory.  It clears soon enough; somehow, they fall asleep on the roof, limbs just short of tangling together, missing years of unspoken understanding begging to speak volumes.

Sungyeol awakes first, aching back unaccustomed to the edges of tiles digging into him.  I’m growing old the grudging acknowledgement draws a grimace.

Bold of coral and amber tint horizon’s edge, gold rays spilling over the land and lending a surreal glow to Myungsoo’s curled up silhouette.  Temptation to curl his finger in a lock of tousled hair sends shivers up his spine.  His eyes seek to capture this moment Leonardo couldn’t have replicated, unable to drown in his beauty fast enough. 

Sungyeol thinks: rust-coloured tiles, sixth fingers, a shattered promise.

In the weeks that follow, the rooftop becomes theirs.  (It always was.)

The revelation of Kim Myungsoo, crippled best friend to Lee Sungyeol, is an accident.  Unintended.  Unwanted.

Tonight, the dull stars twinkle behind heavy gray clouds.  How little difference it makes whether the stars are out.

Thursday after school, Sungyeol walks home alone. 

There’s a large crowd gathering too close to his block.  What happened? he asks a woman at the edge.  Most likely someone jumped comes the reply.

It happens often he shrugs and goes around the other way to avoid the growing number of curious onlookers, hoping for the sake of the poor person – whoever he or she is – that one of them had the sense to call for an ambulance.

The clouds are low and dark again tonight, the crackling air alive.

Sungyeol removes his reading glasses.  Still some minutes at least before it pours, he decides, hoisting himself up and half reaching out his arm before he remembers that he won’t have to do this again.  Not after everything-

Navy blue canvas sticking out the sloping edge catches his attention.  Mixed horror and dread pools in his stomach as he shifts nearer – it is Myungsoo’s.  Myungsoo was here.  Myungsoo isn’t here.  And Sungyeol almost goes the same way he did, sitting down only just in time.

The skies are lit up momentarily in bluish white, illuminating indistinguishable sheets of droplets eagerly pulled downwards by gravity.  He hugs his legs tightly, never letting go of the bag strap, and lets the rain cry for him.

How? is the first word he spits out, storm brewing in his clear eyes.  Myungsoo opens his mouth but Why? cuts in accusingly.  The singular words spew forth rapidly, the Whys machine gun bullets ripping holes in their target (they aren’t clean through) and after they have run down ragged breathing, all either one can think of is how little difference it makes whether the stars are out.

What do you want me to do now?  Go back and ask to have my right leg made a disfigured hand’s length longer, and please remove the metal kneecaps? comes the reply; his voice is more composed than they both expected.

Nocturnal birds and low rumbles fill in the stretched pause.  A quiet Tell me why floats into the charged air.

For you.  And in that simple reply is an eon – more, even – of them. 

Yet a bitter taste fills Sungyeol’s mouth You could have been there for me the day my father ing screwed me over, and all the times I wanted to die from starvation and loneliness – do you even know what it is to be left by yourself, the quietness driving you ing crazy? To be surrounded by so many ing people but still feel like you’re shut up someplace with no light?

Myungsoo can’t answer that.

Pushing himself up into a sitting position, Sungyeol wraps his arms around his legs, rests his head on his knees.  Go. Just go.

The stars aren't really bright.