chapter III

    _________________________________________________________________________________             He falls into darkness, and it envelopes him, eats him up and stains his clothes like ink. He struggles, drowning in a substanceless matter. If he could float, he would have.  If he could tread, he would have.  If he could breathe, he would have.  It drags him down like quicksand.            As soon as he is pulled under and completely surrounded, vivid images begin to flitter through his mind.  It's like watching a very fast slideshow of sloppily cut snippets of his life.  Everything from the first memory he ever had (playing in a sandbox with Dong-Hyung), to the last one he just experienced with Krystal.  Just small things in between, like napping with Soju, a chaotic zoo trip with his class, tripping and cutting his knee in track, video chats with IU.  So insignificant, but together, it was him.              Who?              He wouldn't have minded staying there forever, watching his life pass by.  It is peaceful.  It makes him happy.  He wipes a tear from his cheek and realizes his eyes are open.  His eyes are open, and he is witnessing his memories being played on a gigantic circular screen in front of him like an Omnimax movie, but there is nothing.  Just space, no seats, no people, only him, the darkness, and the screen.              His hair is still freshly cut; he sobs.  He watches Krystal trim his hair, her face calm in concentration, and realizes he never sees her this way.  Only now.  And he sees himself, that arrogant tight lipped mouth he's always hated, those cold, calculating eyes he's always hated, and he cries more.  He watches himself laugh, not a real laugh, an empty one, and watches as his hand covers his mouth.  He's always hated how he does that.  He watches Krystal burst when he says, 'Sungyeol', and he hates how smug he looks.             He watches until that moment in the hallway, just minutes ago, and the screen freezes.  In a sudden flash like a television powering off, it turns dark, just like the space around it, and he is left stranded.             He doesn't know why he's crying.  There must have been something missing, because that's what it felt like.  A big hole in the middle of his existence, and it feels so empty.            Too quickly, he is taken from his darkness and flung into a shell of himself.  He was sixteen and sitting at his window seat in Algebra.  There's a sense of extreme unease.  Just a moment ago, he was hardly fourteen, and sitting here didn't feel out of place.  It feels like he's been here before, and that he should know what happens next.              What happened next was that the bell rung three times over the PA, and his classmates gathered their books to congregate in the hallways.  Like a robot, he felt himself move with the crowd, binders held in his arms.  He could feel that this was preautomated.  He had no control over his movements.  His body was stuck doing this, for a second time, it felt like, and his mind was trapped in that empty black space.  He saw from the body and felt the hollowness of his consciousness.            "Sungjong,"  Kai said, looping an arm around his shoulders.  "You gotta teach me how to do this later."  His name was Sungjong.  Kai was his friend.  He already knew that.            "I wasn't paying attention either," he responded.  They slid out into the hallway and towards their lockers to switch books out.            "Huh, that's a first."  He would have said Kai sneered, but he knew Kai.  Kai didn't sneer.  At least not towards him.  "Our Sungjong, not paying attention?  Were you too busy thinking about-"              Sehun popped up behind Kai.  "Kim,"  he said with a light smirk.            "Myung,"  Kai said.   Quickly, Sungjong moved to shut their mouths.            Pushing their heads side by side, he whispered,  "Please shut up about him.  I don't like him.  I don't like anyone right now."            "Soo,"  they said simultaneously with matching grins.            Sungjong groaned, slamming his locker, and stalked off to his next class.             The Sungjong inside decided to observe.  It was the only thing he could do.  Observe the people around him, observe how this Sungjong acted, and even though he denied it, observe Kim Myungsoo from a distance.  It was a pity, though.  He could only see where his body was looking, and more often than not, it was not at Myungsoo.  Though, pleasantly enough, sometimes, Sungjong's eyes flitted across his figure, pretending not to have seen him when he in fact, was the target.  When had he become so immature?            Sitting to the left and slightly behind him helped too.  Sungjong counted.  Three desks to his right, two up.  Sungjong, as always, claimed a window seat somewhat near the back.  Wherever he'd be the least noticed, he was most comfortable.              History was the class that made Sungjong's eyes drift close, the one that made his head wobbly, and the one class where the teacher insisted on talking in a low, monotone voice.  It was the class that made him decide not to listen and doodle.  Luna once said that he improved his sketches more in History than Art class.            His teacher droned on about the War of the Roses or something like that, clicking past each slide too quickly to write notes.  It didn't matter anyway.  He'd just borrow Victoria's at study hall.  Victoria, by far, was the most studious in his group of friends.  She copies down the slideshows word for word, and if she missed anything, downloaded them from their teacher's website.  It made Sungjong's head ache thinking about all that studying.  Victoria tried too hard, in his opinion.  Sungjong did too, but only for something above a 3.8 GPA.  Victoria was like a 5 or higher.            His pencil ran in short across the page, and he absently shaded his drawing's hair.  Sungjong glanced out the window, his chin propped on his hand.  The mid-morning sun fell softly around the building, highlighting the short lawn grass lime green.  He wished to be outside like the small brown sparrows that flew so freely.  He wondered what it was like sometimes, to have wings, to be able to fly and feel the wind brushing through his hair, feel the sun warming up his back.  Sometimes, Sungjong wished.            He looked down at his doodles and noticed the same face from different angels all over the lined paper.  Some of them were smudged from wear, and some of them were fresh, from minutes ago.  His nose crinkled in distaste.  It was only because he's photogenic, Sungjong told himself.  Myungsoo just had to look like some manga character with his finely shaped nose, crooked smile, angular eyebrows, puffly wuffly hair-  He stopped there, mentally smacking himself with a metal bat.  Sungjong did not like Myungsoo.  Whatsoever.  No, he did not like how he was smart and stupid, athletic and squishy, silent and loud; he did not like how Myungsoo talked in a way that made people listen, he did not like how Myungsoo had artistic ability, he did not like how Myungsoo saw everyone but him.  Sungjong did not like Myungsoo.            But it wasn't like Sungjong wanted to be noticed by him.  That'd actually be awful.  What would he say?  How would he act?  How was he going to maintain eye contact for more than one and a half seconds?  How would he deal with the fact that Myungsoo's presence made him nervous?  They had absolutely nothing in common, save for a mild interest in art, and it was different media too.  Myungsoo at sketching, and Sungjong could hardly figure out the settings on a camera.              Sungjong quietly chuckled to himself.  Like he ever had a chance to begin with.  Sungyeol was more his type anyway.  He'd take loud, cheerful and outgoing over quiet, angsty and stoic any day.  He always found himself smiling at Sungyeol's antics and the way he'd lift the mood of any class.  The way that his face would light up, and his huge smile would always take over, it's always been more of Sungjong's favor.  And despite how stupid Sungyeol acted, he knew that he was smart, like really smart inside.  Above all, Sungyeol understood people, and that was one thing Myungsoo always lacked.            Sungjong didn't know how he knew so much.  Maybe he was just really observant.  Maybe he just liked to judge people.  That's one spot Sungjong knew he needed to improve on.  He needed to stop judging people by their covers.  Long ago, in a conversation with Amber, he decided that he'd absolutely hate himself if he met himself.  Conversations with Amber always ended up like that.  Sungjong decided that he'd hate how cool he'd play everything off, that he'd hate how he thought he knew everything, that he'd hate how he takes everything for granted; yes, Sungjong knew.  He was very conscious of his flaws, and it bothered him.            When he first met Krystal at the ripe age of four, he thought she was the coolest girl he'd ever known. Back then, Sungjong didn't know any girls at all.  He thought Krystal knew everything.  He thought Krystal was so mature.  As they grew up together, he found that Krystal was just as confused as he.  It dampened him a bit, but knowing the real Krystal made him feel better.  She still put that mask on sometimes and whenever she did, it was like Sungjong never existed.  Like he was too insignificant to be acknowledged, and if there's one thing Sungjong never wants to be, it's insignificant.            It ticks him off, because he realized at thirteen how insignificant everything really is.  When Soju died, no one cared.  Well, they did for a few days, and moved on.  The truck driver never got caught, and he found that death, however large a scale, was just another stepping stone in the pathway of life.  People died, the others moved on.  The cycle of school, college, work, marriage, house, kids, death, it set something off inside him.  Why couldn't things be different?  Can't he change something?  Can't he make a difference?            "Sungjong."  He looked up, shaking his hair from his eyes and loosened his grip on the pencil.  Good grief.  He'd forgotten Krystal was in this class.  A very tough task, Sungjong.  I'm proud of you.  He hummed in response, and shuffled his papers together into his binder.  "Lunch.  Come on.  We're going to be late."  She strode away, not waiting for him to finish packing up.  Typical Krystal.  He flexed his fingers, examining the red indents where the pencil was held.   He packed up and swerved around the desks, noticing a small black notebook three desks right, two up from his.  Kim Myungsoo's.  Leave it.              The teacher had already gone, probably to make the most of his lunch break.  He rushed out the door, and turning the corner, found himself looking down at a very black plaid shirt, and a pair of very black sweatpants.  Keeping his head bowed, he quickly changed course and nearly sprinted to his locker.  Godingdammit I hate when stuff like that happens.  He shoved his books into his backpack and chased after Krystal.              Halfway down the hall, he found Sehun at the water fountain.  His hair was slick from either sweat or water from a shower.  Hopefully the latter.            "Sehun," Sungjong said, and pulled him up by his collar.  "We're going."  Sehun stumbled backwards, and Sungjong righted him harshly.  He smoothed down Sehun's hair like a mother fussing over her child.  He regarded the liquid on his hands and wiped it off on Sehun's shirt.  He started walking away, trusting that the other would follow.            "Hello Jongie, I was waiting for you,"  Sehun said happily, falling into step beside Sungjong.             "Waiting for me?  Why?"  he asked, and flicked his hair back, taking the chance to check up on the status of where Myungsoo currently was. His locker, a safe distance away.            "I saw Soo running back towards the classroom.  Wanted to see how you'd handle yourself."  Sehun swung an arm around his shoulder.  "I'm here for emotional support, buddy."              "Stop," Sungjong complained, rocking against Sehun's shoulder.  "I don't want anything to do with him; I've already told you guys that multiple times.  I like Sungyeol better anyways."  He muttered the last bit.            "You're just saying that because you want to deny your undying love for L,"  Sehun said, using their code name for Myungsoo.  "Plus, Sungyeol's reserved for Krystal."            Myungsoo was close enough to hear what they were saying, and that gave Sungjong a strange satisfaction and a sense of domination.  It was at times like this that he worried.  Anything could come out of his mouth, so usually he stopped talking which made his conversation partner at the time feel increasingly awkward as they trailed off, talking to themselves.            "I'm also here to help you make L jealous,"  Sehun whispered.            "Are you positive you're not gay?"  Sungjong replied.            "I just like helping my friends."            "That also depends on what 'helping your friends' translates into," Sungjong exasperatedly whispered back.            Sehun remained silent.  Tan colored lockers flew by, and the cream tiles passed by under their feet.  Soon, they waltzed into the bustling cafeteria shoulder by shoulder, Myungsoo a satisfactory few yards behind.  They wandered up to the back of the line which was pretty short by now because of their tardiness.              Sehun craned his neck.  "Today's special...is lasagna.  Not bad."  He nodded to himself.            "Right," Sungjong groaned.  "Today's Thursday."  Myungsoo quietly lined up behind them and fiddled with a piece of notebook paper, folding and refolding on the creases.  "I hate Thursdays."            Sehun hummed.  "Well I love lasagna."            "That's good for you."  Sungjong patted his friend's back and turned towards the center of the cafeteria.  The door they'd come in through was on the same 'wall' as a small stage, and it was where the lunch monitors sat, looking out upon the students like royalty.  The buffet-like serving line was at the front of the room and went in a slight U shape.            He saw his friends at their table.  It looked like Kai was telling one of his stories again; he waved his arms around him in frantic motions.  Sulli sat to his right, picking at her packed lunch.  Sulli never ate too well.  He always scolded her for not finishing her food.  Krystal was next to Sulli, her eyes fixed incredulously on Kai, like she was saying 'Are you serious?  You expect me to believe that'.  Luna smiled widely, actively pointing and interrupting Kai's story.   That was something Sungjong had picked up, the interrupting.  It drove people mad, but he couldn't stop himself.  Victoria simply smiled and ate, nodding once in a while.  To her, it seemed, there could be nothing wrong with the world.  Amber was on her phone again.  The thing was practically glued to her hand the second class ended.  Next to her were two empty seats for him and Sehun.  It's always been like this.              Sungjong smiled.  He didn't know why he was taking time to notice small details today.  He felt a tug on his elbow and quickly jogged up to the self serve behind Sehun.  Grabbing a tray, he went through the line like he had for years.  Before he knew it, he was in his seat beside Amber, listening to Kai talk about how the US government should do something about the crime rate.  Kai had a strange interest in the state of the nation.  Sungjong never understood.              The tables were round and blue.  Each had eight circular seats, the perfect amount for Sungjong's small group.  Their table was at the edge, near the stage.  They never really caused trouble (save for the occasional beating by Krystal and throwing of pop can by Sehun), and the monitors didn't watch the tables closest to them.             Sungjong had a name for each table.  It was how he and Amber classified  the cliques at their school.            There was a popular-smart-but-nice girl table, a popular-kinda-stupid-and-makeup-obsessed girl table, a we-don't-give-a-crap girl table, a smart-quiet-semi-popular girl table, a stupid-jocks-who-think-they're-cool table, a smart-jocks-who-think-they're-cool table, a would-be-loners table (if they didn't band together), a we're-dorky-but-loved-by-everyone guy table, a we-don't-play-sports-or-study-but-want-girls table, and then there was them.  He and Amber had mused over it for a good five minutes.  They ended up with that-one-group-you-know-is-there-but-don't-pay-any-attention-to.  It didn't satisfy them completely.  Several suggestions were made, including, that-one-group-you-don't-get, the gal-guy, the-cute-Asians, and that-one-group-you're-going-to-regret-not-being-friends-with-when-they-become-famous.   It wasn't a good idea assigning this job to two slightly pompous individuals.  Myungsoo and Sungyeol ended up in the smart-jocks-who-think-they're-cool group, with both of them playing at least two sports each.            He didn't know why Kai wasn't better friends with them when he obviously could have been.  Kai played soccer, basketball, and did track with Sungjong.  He had all of the right ingredients to be in the 'jock' category.  Sehun could have been in that or the dorky-but-loved-by-everyone group.  Sungjong?  He was afraid of what would happen if he left Krystal.            Sungjong took another bite of lasagna, trying not to let his hair fall into it.  He refused to brush it behind his ears, but sometimes he wished he would when it dipped into his food.  Sungjong always sat facing away from the rest of the cafeteria and towards the stage and door.  It always gave him reassurance when he could see the door.  But today.  Today, there was something off.  Thursday.            He swallowed his food, flicked his hair back, and looked up.  The two lunch monitors fidgeted.  One was a middle aged woman with a son a few grades above them, and one was a young janitor.  They looked like they wanted to say something but couldn't.  Their eyes were glassy, and the typical frowns, frozen.  He nudged Amber.  He whispered his doubts to her, and she thought for a moment.            "You know, I noticed our PE teacher being like that too.  Even Walker was out of it today, and you know what he's like," she replied.                    "Maybe it's the stock market.  Or the economy or something like that.  Taxes?"  he said.            He already knew what she was going to say:  "Ask Kai."              And he did.  Something about how 'the stock market closed above 10,000 points yesterday.  That's really good, actually, the first time in forever.  Housing sales are up seven percent, but the national debt's still rising, obviously, and tax day was a month ago what are you talking about', so that was the end of that.            Sungjong took another bite, keeping a close watch on all adults in the vicinity. It was ten past noon when he saw it.  The principal walked in through the door with a dirty blonde haired Asian man by his side.  They stopped by the edge of the stage so as to not draw attention.  The blonde wore a fitted black suit and looked the essence of either wealthy businessman, hired killer, or just-came-from-wedding.  Sungjong directed his attention towards the balding principal, who really wasn't a bad man.  The type of person to greet students by first name and visit classrooms on impulse.  Today he looked highly disturbed, running a hand through his sparse hairs and failing to control his expression.  The other man, probably in his mid twenties, had a small, pleasant smile and stood with his hands clasped behind his back.            "Oh.  My god,"  Amber said when she spotted him.            "What."             "He is...gorgeous."  When Sungjong turned towards her, his mouth hanging open, she began to ramble, "I mean, I don't even say that.  Like ever, but seriously.  Look at him.  Oh my god.  How is this possible, he is like the Greek God of handsome.  His face, it's like, his jaw oh, his hair what the heck.  And you know how men in suits-"  Sungjong shushed her when he traded a few words with the principal.  The man began to survey the students.   His eyes flickered and were no longer amused.  If he was an animal, Sungjong decided, he'd be an eagle.  Or a leopard.              He'd forgotten he was staring blatantly at the two when the man's eyes met with Sungjong's.  His mind jolted, and the him trapped inside experienced a shaking, and the moment was frozen in time.  His pulse increased and his head began pounding.  He knew this man.  He knew him.  He knew what he'd done.  Knew his name.  Knew why he was here.            And it was something that made Sungjong want to kill him in the most brutal way possible.  He wanted to see that pretty face twisted in agony, begging for mercy.  It terrified him, shook him to the bottom of his feet.  To the backwaters of his consciousness.            But there was one problem.  He forgot.  He had no idea why.  But he knew.  It was so frustrating.  He wanted to pull his hair out, take Sehun by the shoulders and shake him,  but he had no physical body.  The one he was in was not in his control.              The shell of Sungjong blinked.  The man smiled.  The principal looked like he'd collapse at any second.  The man turned around and disappeared down the hall.  The principal sent a jittery glance at Sungjong and followed.              The cafeteria was bustling with noise, the chatter of friends, the popping of soda cans, the crinkling of a bag of chips, but the only thing Sungjong heard,            I'm sorry. _________________________________________________________________________________     _________________________________________________________________________________  

          Sungjong shook his head.  Things were strange today.  His old English teacher taught them once to never use 'things' to describe a situation or object and to always use a specific word.  But that was simply it.  Things were strange today.  It was not specifically one event or observation.  Everything.  

 

         Sungjong didn't live on an island, although the peninsula he did live on was thin enough near the mainland to almost be an island.  A peninsula in the spacious Pacific Ocean.  It terrified him sometimes, thinking about how ginormously vast it was.  It made him feel small, tiny, a speck of dirt on a shining, golden platter.  

 

         In the midst of working on some particularly challenging homework, he would often fling himself onto his bed and just think.  Think about what it'd feel like to fly, think about what would be different if he was born into another family, think about impossible things like bringing back the dead, extinguishing every harmful thing in the world, and sometimes, when he was in the mood, think about what it felt like to love.

 

         Because for Sungjong, he didn't have a clue.  He could genuinely say the only life he truly loved was Soju's, and she was gone.  It sounded ridiculous; didn't he love his parents?  His friends?  Dongwoo?  Himself?  But when he thought about it, there was only a hollowness.  Would he feel anything if they left?  If they never came back?  It scared him so badly, he told himself, it's not normal.  You should feel sad, you should love your family.  You should care.  And like everything, he didn't know why.  That part scared him the worst.  Could he honestly not feel anything for people?

 

         Sungjong was a boy who never got scared, never feared a thing in his life, and he could be brought down by the sheer thought of not knowing.  

 

         Sungjong contemplated this as he stared at the Sungyeol's back, his lungs effortlessly working to keep his muscles in motion.  Running was easy.  Running and knowing you're behind the rest is not.  So Sungjong worked to always be ahead.  He'd rather be the one's back you're aiming for than the one aiming for someone's back.  Whenever