chapter II

_________________________________________________________________________________              Twenty-seven total casualties since noon.            Every summer, there was an ant infestation at Sungjong's house.  They  were in nooks and crannies everywhere: bedroom, sink, bathroom, toilet, bathtub, TV.  They were large and small, brown and black.  Unavoidable.  The family would go into havock, tearing up the walls, searching for an opening where the ants could enter.  His parents never killed them.  They knew how he and Dongwoo would react.            Once, when Sungjong was fourteen, he found a small one crippled on his bed.  He casually flicked it off, but several thoughts flickered through his head.  Did he roll over on it in his sleep?  Did it die from the pesticide?  Did he sit on it?  He agonized over it longer than he realized, the small body planting a seed in the corners of his consciousness.             That year, his dad used a homemade ant-killer.  He had used it for a few years before, but fourteen was the first time Sungjong understood.  The chemicals filtered into the ants' system after it's been drunk.  The process took a few days, but eventually, the chemicals released gas into the ants' body and expanded.  The exoskeleton wouldn't be able to let it out, and the ants burst from the inside.            A harmless sugar drink, a treat for a simple ant.  A harmless sugar drink, laced with poison, designed to kill.            One night, Sungjong wandered upon a large black ant on his carpet.  It lied with its legs folded in like it had been stepped on.  He knew it wasn't him; he always walked barefoot in summer, and Dongwoo wouldn't harm a thing.  He stared at it for a few more seconds. That's when he realized.  It was dying.  It'd twitched.  It'd twitched a few times since he arrived, but he blew it off as nothing.  He knew the ant was suffering, slowly exploding from the inside.  He should have killed it, for both of them.  But he couldn't, and it was terrible.  He switched the lights off, and pretended he didn't know a thing.              Trails of blood rolled down from the severed wrists, the fingers curling into the palm.            In the morning, he saw it again, lying in the same spot, same position, still twitching.     _________________________________________________________________________________              Starting his first year of middle school, Sungjong was spending at least a third of his day on the internet.  His parents yelled at him to socialize once in awhile, but they didn't realize that he already was 'socializing' online.  When he wasn't with Dongwoo, Krystal, Kai, or any of his other friends, he'd be IMing them.  And that is how, through many friends-of-friends, he met Jieun (or as her screen name indicated, IU).  Specifically, Sulli's cousin's friend's friend's friend.             The first post he ever clicked on by IU was a selca of her 'goth look attempt' (she took lots of selcas.  At least two a day).   Sungjong analyzed the comments, and found someone who carried the similar interest of girl group dances.  Ecstatic, he started a conversation, and Jieun in turn, was ecstatic that a (quote "so so so cute, omg, like, can i squish you now") boy who liked girl group dances, and lived in America had suddenly shown up out of nowhere.  Soon, they were talking everyday, learning more and more about each other's personal lives.              Sungjong learned that she had a large group of friends at school, and could be defined as someone mildly popular.  He became slightly wary at that time, but as they talked more, he found that she was nothing like the people at his school. He let himself open up more, and started to build a friendship that would last for years.              Does the sky feel like silk?            By the end of middle school, Sungjong had collected himself a group of friends who lived across the country in New York.  He never met them then, but he might as well have.  He knew all of them inside out, and them him.  He knew that IU kept a daily diary, and that she had a little brother that reminded her of himself.  He knew that Jiyeon always wore a bracelet on her left wrist, and that she loved sky blue.  He knew that Hoya loved penguins, but really was more well represented with something like a lion or dolphin.  He knew that Woohyun loved to ("Hey Sungjong, you sound cold.  Want to use me as a blanket?"  "Sungjong, you like Krystal, don't you?"  "I wish I could fly to California so you wouldn't be lonely."), and that Sunggyu cares more about his mother than anyone else in his life.              Sungjong knew to go to Hoya when he wanted some words of wisdom, or if he wanted a deep intellectual discussion.  He went to Sunggyu with emotional and family issues (and occasionally a "convince me to do homework").  He could always count on a good scolding from Sunggyu.  He went to Woohyun for pick-me-ups if he had a bad day (or more naturally, Woohyun was the one that came to Sungjong), or for an extra opinion that would always escalate into a heated argument.  He went to Jiyeon and Jieun with everything, but mostly to complain, whether it be love ("hormonal activity"), friends, teachers, parents, food, or whatever.            "You're Jieun, right?...I need to ask a favor."            Sungjong built himself a family three-thousand miles away.     _________________________________________________________________________________              Jieun noticed something off as she examined a photo of Sungjong's fourteenth birthday.  Everyone who was supposed to be there was- Krystal, Dongwoo, Kai, Sehun, Luna, Victoria, Amber, Sulli, and his parents- but Sungjong.  Sungjong wasn't there.  Well, he was there, but he wasn't her Sungjong.  Her Sungjong didn't wear black jeans, gray hoodies, or let his hair fall over his eyes.  Her Sungjong wore vibrant colors and shorts at this time of year, not dull colors and suffocating fabrics.            "He's here.  He can't come to the phone at the moment."            If she had to pinpoint when it began, she'd say somewhere in late July.  She saw Sungjong in Luna's birthday picture in early August, and he'd changed then too.              “In bed-”            And something staring her right in the face: he took a week and a half's leave.  He took a leave from everything.  She passed off the first day as a fluke.  Everyone gets a busy day once in awhile, right?  But even so, something felt empty.  She’d slip her phone out absently, waiting for that notification to pop up.  It never did.  Not for ten days.            “Four days.”            Jieun asked Krystal at the one week mark, just in case he was on vacation somewhere without wifi. She forgot that Sungjong would have told her if he was leaving. Krystal said no, that she saw Dongwoo the other day. She didn’t notice that Krystal never said she saw Sungjong.   So she went to Dongwoo.  After the message was sent, she waited, and saw the 'Dongwoo is typing' signal go up and fade at least four times.  When the final IM was sent, it read 'You'll have to ask sungjong yourself.  it's up to him if he tells you'.  Ridiculous, she thought.  He would have told me first.     On interrogation, Jieun found out that it wasn't her who he went to first.  He went to Sunggyu first.  She demanded that he tell her what was wrong and received the same answer as Dongwoo had given.  Frustrated to no end, she spent three days after that repeatedly sending video chat invites to Sungjong's box because she knew he was there.              "Me?  I'm Myungsoo."            On the fourth day, he accepted.              Dongwoo said it was quite possibly the funniest thing he's ever seen.  He claimed himself a patch of carpet and made himself comfortable for the show.  After two hours of pep-talking, he believed Sungjong was ready to face IU.  He looked up at his baby brother and smiled.              "Sungjong!  Sungjong!"  Dongwoo cheered.  "You can do this!"            Sungjong sighed.  His brother was already fifteen, but he acted younger than five.  No matter.  Staring at the screen and listening to his brother's chants, he leaned back in his chair, and clicked onto the vid-chat.              Dongwoo watched Sungjong press himself into the back of the large leather chair and set his face to the new 'emotionless' setting.  IU's face flickered up on screen.  She peered into the camera, and then the screen.  She rested her chin on her interlaced fingers and raised an eyebrow.  There was a dead silence as the two stared at each other for minutes on end, only interrupted when Dongwoo couldn't take it anymore.  He burst out laughing.              "You guys are so stupid!"  he chortled.            Sungjong gripped the handles of his chair.  "Speak for yourself," he said.            "Oh!  So the boy finally speaks,"  Jieun said, her jaw bouncing at each word.  Sungjong blinked nervously.  "WHERE THE HELL WERE YOU?!"            Needless to say, the conversation ended with several 'I'm sorry ma'am, yes ma'am, I understand ma'am's.  Dongwoo never stopped laughing.            "He has no one else."     _________________________________________________________________________________

 

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          Sulli was the first to die.

 

         Shortly after his fourteenth birthday, Sungjong discovered a newfound interest in MMA.  Or more generally, giving off a dangerous vibe.  Krystal said that it was too late to start classes, so she'd just teach him what she learned.  She started off with wrestling, which Sungjong quickly gave up on (1. because of Krystal's death grip, 2. because of her stone-hard abs, 3. because she could have killed him), and soon after, prompted him to tell her, "I just want to know how to beat people up.  Like if they pickpocketed me or something or if they had a knife.  Tell me how and where to hit; that's all.  Maybe some cool tricks too."

 

         Krystal warily eyed Sungjong from her straddle on him and replied, "So you want to learn street fighting?"

 

         He nodded.  "I suppose."  And after a prolonged moment of Krystal's staring, "Can you get off me now?"  

 

         The way he spoke irked Krystal.  Where was her small, stupid Sungjong?  What happened to his fears, his ideals, his respect?  If this was all because of that dog, she was going to beat the hell out of him.  She didn't think this version would mind much if she did anyway.  Another considerable tid bit:  you learn street fighting for self defense.  Not if you wanted to look cool, or whatever Sungjong wanted.

 

         "'No," she said breezily.  

 

         Sungjong blinked.  "Is that a no to the teaching me part, or a no to the getting off of me part."

 

         "Both," said Krystal, and she tightened a hand around his neck.  Leaning in close, she hissed, "Come back when you've learned how to talk to me."  She released Sungjong and stood up, brushing the carpet burns on her knees.  

 

         She heard Sungjong try to inhale without making noise; her nose twitched.  

 

         "Well, you got off of me,"  he muttered, slowly bending upwards into a sitting position.

 

         Don't with me.  Krystal turned around and walked out the other way of Sungjong's house, making sure to step on his stomach as she went.  Hearing the satisfying 'Oof', she slid open the screen door and swung herself over the railing of the porch.  It wasn't that high till she hit the ground.  Only about seven feet or so.  Dongwoo waved from the other side of the yard where he was entangled in some shrubbery.  Lord knows what he was doing.<