Dedicated to AvyA7X

Forewords: Closure. Some people have it, others don’t. Some throw their doors open to people. They are inviting, outgoing, ready to give and ready to accept. They know how to grasp the shapeless beauty of life around them, and then blow its sparkling dust about themselves and everyone else. These people don’t need closure. They need friends. Others prefer to stretch out and watch as wonders like bashful butterflies gather about their heads; and no one can be allowed to barge in, to scare the butterflies away. They need closure, and closure will find them easily, as will silence. And even if they find an easy companion in silence, silence can never give friendship, much less love.

Jung Sora has never liked closure. Closure frightens her; the idea of damming away the stream of love she so badly needs scares her. Park Geonil, on the other hand, has never experienced love. He never knew he needed it, either. He was content to stay behind closed doors.

That is, until he peeped out of them and saw her.

“Geonil.”

Someone was calling him. He didn’t know who it was. It was too dark to see anything. There appeared to be a few drifting orbs in the air, but that was it. The light was too dim, and much too small to see by. Geonil reached out for a blue one as it passed languidly by over his head. The orb was the size of a cookie crumb, smooth and cool to the touch. It collided into his palm with a soft ringing noise, like the sound a pebble makes when it falls to the stone bed of a wishing well. Geonil brought his fingers together, cupped the orb and pushed it downwards for him to have a closer look at the curious little thing.

“Geonil?”

Geonil turned around, the orb clutched firmly in his hand. Who was calling him? The voice was distinctively female, and annoyingly aglow with youth. He cringed and returned his attention to the pale light peeping out from between his fist.

“Don’t touch that, Geonil,” cooed the voice like a mother to her son. Geonil hesitated for a moment before reluctantly uncurling his fist. The orb floated upwards as if it were as light as a soap bubble in sunshine. Geonil watched it go, until an impulse suddenly went rigid in his arm, and he grabbed the orb once more.

“Geonil,” reprimanded the voice severely. “Let it go.”

Geonil ignored her. Who was this person, anyway? Why was she here, in his space? He stubbornly pocketed the orb. It resulted in a slight, glowing bump along his thigh.

“Let go of it, Geonil.”

“Leave me alone,” spoke Geonil for the first time.

“Release the orb. It’s not meant for you to keep for yourself.”

Geonil plopped down, shut his eyes, and plugged his fingers into his ears. He began humming to himself, swaying his body from side to side, and pretending that the voice did not exist. It did, however, and it seemed to be coming closer, even intruding his mind.

“Geonil! Give it back this instant!”

Geonil hummed louder. The orb in his pocket seemed to sink into him slightly, and although it was bitterly cold, Geonil liked the shiver it gave.

“Geonil! Geonil! Geonil!!...

….

….

GEONIL! GET YOUR OFF THE SOFA!!”

Geonil leapt awake with a start. His eyelids flew open, only to slam themselves down again to shut off the glaring bright lights piercing through his head.

“Woah, you almost gave me a heart attack there.” He clutched his chest and breathed hard. His manager looked disapprovingly down at the boy.

“Look at you! Sleeping like a log when you’re supposed to be getting ready for a photoshoot. And oh god… what have you done to your hair?” The manager turned around, hollering. “Where’s his assistant?”

“Here, Sir.”

“Fix his hair.Fast. It’s his turn soon.”

“Yes, Sir.” The assistant, a pretty young lady clad in a smart white blouse, offered him her hand. Geonil took a bleary look at it, contemplated for a while, and then proceeded to get up by himself. The assistant grimaced, and Geonil groaned as he left the comfy depths of the sofa. He dragged himself over to the dressing table, flung himself down and begun massaging his temples as his assistant her hairdryer.

The idol stared drowsily at himself in the well-lit mirror as the hairdryer started its monotonous roaring, obsessively drawling in his ear and yelling over the top of his head. Even so, it barely masked the shouts and constant murmuring behind him. His manager was the loudest of them all, hissing orders and complaining loudly all the time. Though he would only be replacing their real manager for a few weeks, the man was acting as if he had been their master ever since they were born. A sigh escaped Geonil. He was always sighing.

“Touch up touch up touch up,” wagged the manager’s tongue impatiently. “Go over. We have a new photographer today. Don’t leave a bad impression.”

As if Geonil cared.

“Done,” informed his assistant. As lazily as he could, Geonil got off the chair and strolled over to the shooting area, ignoring his boss’ endless nagging. He looked around for the new photographer. There didn’t seem to be any.

“Hey!” His boss had noticed it too. “Where’s that Jung girl?”

“She disappeared at the last minute, boss,” explained one of the camera crew as he polished his lens carefully. He pushed his glasses up, his face kindly but wizened with age. “She was here with us when we were shooting for the past few ones, but I think she strayed off and got lost on the set.”

“She got lost?” piped up Geonil with quiet concern.

“She’s just slacking off,” answered another one of the cameramen dismissively. “She’s one of those part-time ones, you know? Come late and go early. I bet she left the minute she could.”

That’s so irresponsible, thought Geonil with a “tch”. “She should have stayed and finished the shooting for me. It wouldn’t have taken a long time.”

“Pity though,” added the first one earnestly as he got ready for shooting. “She was very good at capturing the feel we wanted.” The old man gestured passionately, his eyes lighting up with love for his profession. “It’s like a thin strand of hair, that feel. So delicate and so difficult to catch… but she caught it alright. Oh yes she did.”

“Enough with the chit-chat,” snapped the manager. “Get this over with. We’re all aching to go home.”

---

Geonil wasn’t listening any more. His manager had been grumbling in his ear all the time since they left the set, and it was getting more than annoying. Geonil took abrupt turns into random corridors in the hope that his manger would get a hint, but the middle-aged man simply swerved along with him, jabbering and pestering the exasperated boy even though he had long understood the point.

Be expressive. I know, I know! Why must he stretch four syllables into such a long-winded speech? Goddamn it! Geonil swung into yet another corridor, his footsteps growing faster and faster. His manager finally seemed irritated.

“Geonil, are you listening?”

“… Of course, Sir.”

“What I have been talking about for the past few minutes, then?”

Geonil struggled to suppress a hearty groan. “Be expressive.”

The manager seemed satisfied. “Good. Keep that in mind.”

I will, I will! Just leave me alone you bumbling old man!

Geonil waited until the heavy footsteps dwindled out of hearing before he threw his back against the wall and moaned. He sunk gloomily down to his heels, agitatedly running his fingers through his stiff, flawless hair, as if attempting to sweep the gnawing troubles off from his mind. He failed, and so consented to cradling his head. His bangs fell over his eyes, shading them from the dizzy, florescent lights lining the ceiling. For a moment, Geonil was reminded of his dream, and of that voice, so irritably feminine, so commanding.

“Let it go!”

Argh! Shut up! growled Geonil in his mind. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block everything out. Weariness emanated from his bones, and his muscles were tightening in all the wrong, sore places. Perhaps it was because he had been sleeping uncomfortably on the couch for too long. Perhaps it was because he hadn’t had a good night’s rest for eternity. Or perhaps it was because he was tired, tired of being in the centre of attention, tired of the endless scoldings, the screaming of strangers, the scrutiny of peeping, glass eyes…

There was no one around. The stillness seemed to sprout out from the polished floor, and they wound their comforting fingers around him, crawling up his feet and around his ankles. Geonil sniffed, and he opened his eyes. The whirring air-conditioners whispered cooling, calming words to him, and slowly, he began to relax.

At least it’s quiet in here.

He raised his head and prepared himself for a stroll in the empty building. As he was dusting himself down, however, he thought he heard something.

Nah, there can’t be anyone else here now.

Then he heard it again. It sounded a little like knocking, or rattling. It was rhythmic, too; the sound came in two urgent throbs, followed by two weak pleas. Geonil froze, listening closely.

“Is anyone there?” he called cautiously.

The sound continued. Whoever was causing it either didn’t hear him, or couldn’t answer.

“Is anyone there?” repeated the boy, bewilderment and confusion strengthening his voice. His feet started to move forward, and he found himself looking around for the source of the sound. It seemed to be coming from a door at the end of the corridor. Geonil approached it and read the sign. It was a storage room, and the door was locked tight.

He pressed his ear against the door. Yes; there seemed to be someone tapping against it, though the tapping was growing more and more feeble. Geonil tried the door himself, twisting the doorknob and shaking it viciously when it refused to budge.

“Hello?” He shouted. “Is there anyone in there? Are you okay?”

… how long has that person been in here? Geonil vehemently kicked the door, leaving his shoeprint there, but otherwise gaining no result. He tried looking through the doors, but it was completely dark inside, and he could see nothing save the dim outline of the ventilation gap at the back wall. It was a cramped area, with barely room to stand, and definitely not enough room to stay in for very long.

“I’ll be back! Don’t give up!” With that, he broke into a sprint for the staircase, his sneakers squeaking loudly through the silence in the air. He pattered down the stairs, his feet nimble with nervousness. Once he reached the second floor, he dashed out to find himself standing in front of the receptionist’s desk.

Where were the lockers?

To the right, remembered Geonil with short-lived relief. He wound down one corridor and up another, huffing for air. It was growing stuffy, and the air-conditioners were starting to wind down.

When he reached the locker room, Geonil found that the door was locked as well. No matter how hard he jerked the doorknob, it would not move.

Geonil growled and headed back to the receptionist’s desk. The keys might be there if they weren’t in the locker room. His jacket was becoming intolerably uncomfortable, and his singlet clung to his perspiring skin. By the time he made it back to the desk, sweat dripped from the ends of his frizzled bangs and trickled down his heated up neck. Geonil threw open the drawers, and his shaking hands searched frantically through stacks of documents and assorted pens.

“Come on… come on…”

Time was growing short. Geonil dived his fingers into the largest cabinet and felt carelessly through what was obviously the receptionist’s temporary dustbin. Sweet wrappers scratched at Geonil’s skin, and he growled with frustration.

There was a soft clink, and his finger hooked against a ring of metal. Geonil hurriedly yanked it out. About twenty differently-tagged keys jangled from hands. Geonil gripped it firmly in his fist, staggered away from the receptionist’s desk, and then flew back up the staircase.

By the time he reached the storage room, he was panting heavily. With trembling fingers, he searched through the tags in the hope of finding one that read “4^thstorey storage room”. Occasionally he pressed his ear against the door. The sound had gone, and Geonil felt something sink inside him.

At last his watering eyes fell upon a red tag. Storage room 4^th,read the scrawled cursive words, and Geonil grinned. He jammed the key into the doorknob, and it turned.

When he opened the door, something rose back inside of him. A girl lay curled like a foetus on the floor, her damp hair spread about her like blood, and her palm stretched towards where the door was. More importantly – she was breathing.

Geonil took hold of her shoulders and lifted her up. She was surprisingly light. As Geonil rested the trembling girl against his chest, something dug into his ribs. It was a bulky camera.

With minimal effort, he carried the girl in his arms and chose a corner to lean her against. The girl was shaking uncontrollably, her knuckles were white, and tears scarred her porcelain face.

“Are you alright?”

The girl feebly nodded. “Clau-claustrophobia.”

“What?”

“Claustrophobia,” gulped the girl as strength blossomed in her lungs. She opened her eyes, and Geonil felt the air escape him. Her eyes were a faded brown, like that of a baby doll’s, and glossy, weakly-curling eyelashes framed them. Geonil couldn’t help but stare.

For a second they looked dumbly into each other’s eyes, until the girl broke away, her eyes rolling over to the ceiling. She stared into the light, comfort and delight seeping along with color into her face. Geonil crouched there, not knowing what to do other than stare. He ran his eyes over the layered black hair roving down her back, and blinked at the undeniably cute green ribbon perched at the side of her head; he marveled at the pleasing color of her dark green singlet, and inwardly approved of the conservativeness of her shorts; he admired the velvet-skinned shoulders, the slim waist, the angular hips and the still-sweaty, slender legs. Something rung in his head, soft, calm, telling, like the sound a pebble makes when it falls to the stone bed of a wishing well. A ripple rose in Geonil, causing him to shiver, and yet he enjoyed it. He suddenly felt more alive than he had ever did before.

“Wha-what’s your name?” He heard himself say.

The girl turned to him, and something caught in his throat. Perhaps it was embarrassment. Geonil hoped his cheeks weren’t flushing.

“What was that?”

Oh god. She has a nice voice. “Wha-what’s your name?”

“Jung Sora. I work part-time here,” answered the girl. She glanced down at her camera and it lovingly. “I was supposed to be here for a photoshoot, but…” She shut her eyes and shivered. Geonil fought the urge to wrap his arms around her.

“You have claustrophobia?”

“Yeah… I’m afraid of small spaces.” She gave a little laugh that shook Geonil and jabbed at his sanity. “I’m afraid of a lot of things. I’m afraid of being alone, I’m afraid of the dark, I’m afraid of silence…” she ticked them off her fingers.

“Oh?” replied Geonil absentmindedly. “I actually like all of the above.”

“Oh?” repeated Sora. “Sounds like we need each other.”

She looked up into his eyes with a smile, and Geonil heard the ringing in his head again. He looked into her friendly brown eyes and inhaled deeply.

“Yeah,” he breathed out, nodding thoughtfully. “Yeah… I totally agree.”

Writer’s note: As usual you may extract this plot, adapt it and create your own story with it. Do remember to notify us when you do and credit either the café or imsosofia in your forewords.