Hi, I'm back from mid exam :) I really like this story so I decided to update it first. Sorry I'm a lazy author but I've tried to give my best to write this chapter. A little bit spoiler, the first 10 chapters happened in 2007/2008. Kyungsoo is 12 and Baekhyun, Chanyeol, Jongdae, and Amber are 13. After that there'll be a time shift in the middle and the'll turn 19. As for the real problems, I'll save the rest for later. You may guess it a little from this chapter :D oh yeah, this story is addressed for young adults so please don't mind my snarky or witty writing style ;) Ok that's all I want to say, hope you enjoy my small gift :)

 

p.s : as usual, please leave your review so I can improve for the best! :D

Love,

Ainihaya

 

 

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셋

 

 

Words: 6.5k+

 

            “Hi, you look handsome today.”

            Kyungsoo’s face went pale.

            It was August. At least on the day he died, if he were ever going to, he wanted to remember just the month. He had his shame deprived already and now he had nothing with him but a pretty face that kept on going pale as seconds passed by. And was it all? Not really sure. He had a quite big bedroom at home covered with his colection of Musiq Soulchild’s posters, but who needs that when you become a potential class-joke for the rest of your school life? What a sad circumtance, which was actually kind of unfair. And a bit unrealistic when he tought about it, but then again it wasn’t normal from the very beginning. Trapped in an unknown country after winning ₩ 10 billion worth lottery from a box of leftover guava juice, then being sent by your parents to a local old-fashioned junior high school, fell in love (a homoual love, can you imagine that), got popular, and eventually thrown into the lowest caste of school’s history, that was the potential loser, while not yet fully recovered from a severe diarrhea.

            He had known this the very first day they moved, something bad is going to happen.

            He had a nightmare one day. It was from a long time ago. When he woke the next morning he found his bed wet of his own sweat. He did, and then undid, check that the source of the soggy spot before his pillow was indeed sweat and not tears or pee—of which he laughed like a silly person for finding out that neither of both was the answer. But there is something. Something with the way Goseung-gun existed that reminded him of his bad dream.

            He could tell it from the unusually fresh weather the moment after he landed his feet on its windy road. The smell of seashore hit his nostrils. Fishermen got home at Sunday and soon people rose to market to buy freshly stocked fish. Sometimes crabs and prawn too, when they brought home any. Goseong-gun had only one market, as it did with junior high school in the place. They only had one. But this market was where people of this area met. Fathers talking about football match last night. Mothers be cheeping about their children, or the latest episode of daily dramas for the matter. Kids his age were usually left at home, sitting by their study desk and on that wooden surface they would rest their head whilst thinking about anything that wasn’t related to school and homework. Probably silently watching softcore . Only when roasted-sweet-potato granny reopened her shop after a long while, like, two weeks ago, did they started begging the Moms to take them to that market. And it wasn’t until days later that the Moms had agreed to do it. Then so everything met, at the place’s one and only market. Fathers and Fathers. Moms and Moms. Kids and Kids. Fish and more fish. Blending. Their eyes alighted at each other, as if muttering a simple hello—Hello. How are you. Good. Me too. Okay. Nice to meet you. Bye. Have a lovely day. Strapping in silence at the side was Taebaek Mountains. Stood tall, like a wolf in fable who was preying on its naughty Red Riding Hood. Some people called it Mountains of God. Some were acting like it was a gift from an unknown world. To Kyungsoo it was just the prettiest mountains who also happened to isolate the already lonely region.

            The place didn’t look a thing like home in his opinion. And to think that he ever considered dying in this lonesome country was beyond his expectation. Anywhere, he snickered, anywhere but this place where kids his age were still listening to Tae Jin-ah and not more neoteric music or the likes of it. And it was weird. Everything was bright, and peaceful, and old-fashioned about Goseong-gun. From the people, to the road, to the building. Until the day set in, the place was just a blinking lighthouse. Full of the sounds of cicadas and mosquitos at night. Then when morning spurted, it would once again merged with the salty smell of the seashore, the tracks those fishermen took to walk their catches home. That was the kind of territory Goseong-gun was. He certainly wouldn’t just die that easily.

            Bitting his lower lips, Kyungsoo looked up nervously. Baekhyun, and next Chanyeol, and Amber, and after that it was so hard to remember, but he eventually settled his gaze back at the haughty Byun.

            What is left for me after this? He tried to find the answer on his own. Right, I can’t just die this instant. I’m not a weakling. Though I can’t deny that I do look like one. And his breath fell softly on his green sweater. Hot like blowing steam. He took another deep breath, and released it up the clear air. His classmates were gaping at him, as if somehow, the world had stopped spinning, hidden behind his not-so-wide shoulders. As is somehow, it was coiling all around him. On the sidelines of his autumn uniform, beneath his ed collar, stopped above his black, thick bangs; he didn’t live for this kind of stuff.

            It took a moment for Kyungsoo to realize that his classmates were still looking. The two girls in front even had their eyes itchy for not blinking. There were plenty of others who also did the same. He noticed some were going as far as drooling with their orbs still fully round, and Kyungsoo had to step back, about to take off his shoes and toss them to those creepers; if not for his self-esteem he would’ve done that. Having no other choice, Kyungsoo followed them with his big eyes and managed a smile. He didn’t want to repeat his mistake—or should he call it, ignorance—, and he surely didn’t want to make another scene starring after his name.

            Especially not infront of his haughty crush.

            The clock was ticking. Kyungsoo debated whether he ought to open his mouth or not. He seemed pretty confused as well, like how he spent every minutes getting all of his words arranged. When he was sure it was finally alright for him to do so, he tucked back some hair strands that were covering his view, lips blooming a rather cheerful smirk. “Yeah, Byun-ssi,” he began, nodding his head without reason, “you look so handsome today.”

            Then a strange, yet genius, idea struck him.

            “And you too!” he said suddenly, pointing a finger. “You too, Park-ssi,” there was a loud gasp somewhere behind his bobbing head, “you look so handsome and all fresh in the morning!”

            It was a lie. And Kyungsoo wanted to cry.

            He wanted to cry, all along the aisle that divided his class into four columns and through the length of the road home, lock himself inside his gloomy bedroom, glancing at the weather forecast, cry again, fall asleep with all his clothes on, and wake up having a puffy face afterwards. For people like Kyungsoo who weren’t really good with socializing, those kind of things help a lot. He got no one to share his aching heart with. Amber wasn’t counted because she was—oh—she was a girl after all, she wouldn’t understand. And don’t ever bring his kittens into this problem, they only knew how to mewl.

            All around him were his classmates whose eyes just turned even bigger the moment Kyungsoo, corner of lips curled up as though he wanted people to notice him even more, tilted his head to side, so that the morning sunlight tumbled upon his now slim cheeks, when he talked to Chanyeol, praising his so-called handsome-look in the morning. That wasn’t wholly a falsehood—about Chanyeol being attractive or whatnot—, Kyungsoo clacked his tongue, but he was indeed lying about the ‘fresh’ part. That morning face of his was more creepy than succulent. But it was still alright. Said giant was dead freezing next to Baekhyun, his mouth forming an ‘o’ shape, perhaps trying to utter a shriek that never found its way out from Chanyeol’s troath, floating back inside. Poor boy never received enough praise throughout his life that he froze right away when he heard one. Or perhaps he acted like that because he have a crush on me, he mentally added, yeah he probably do, and after that Kyungsoo had to hold his sarcastic laugh.

            “Amber,” called Kyungsoo, decided to go on with his strange idea, “oh well, sorry for being a rude friend,” here, he halted to flash the crowd his million-dollar smile, “I didn’t notice that you got a new hairstyle. It looks cute! Should’ve kept it from the start, bud! You look better with shorter hair! And—”

            And?

            And what now, he asked to himself.

            “—And that pink sweater suits you well, Luna-yah!” he continued. “My aunt,” oh, whose aunt he was chirping about, anyway, because the last time he checked on Do family tree his father hung sloppily on their old apartment’s kitchen door, he only got one ing uncle that was still ing single and most likely still ing too despite the fact that he was already reaching late 20s, “told me last week that pink sweater is the trend for autumn in Seoul—ah! And you! Your BB cream looks hella smooth, Wonbin-ah—”

            “B-but my name is Won Shik—”

            “—It doesn’t matter! E—everyone is looking extremely good today! Guess I’ve missed a lot of things during my absence!”

            Now he really, really wanted to cry.

            Kyungsoo looked back up at his classmates. He felt shorter than everyone, like they were just standing there, forming a human wall, and Kyungsoo was a tiny dot of fear cornered at the end of steep valley. He could feel their breath wavered with the wind, as he bent down a little to rest his by the table behind him, and he could feel Baekhyun his own lips when he peered through those black locks of his hair; the stark skin of Baekhyun’s tongue was the color of primrose garden; ripe, and tinted with amparo purple.

            The bell was ringing; Kyungsoo’s face lit with relief. It won’t be too long for the teacher to arrive.

            Still, he waited. He waited for his classmates to say something, but waiting had never been this alarming before. He knew as well they wouldn’t believe in his act. His classmates were mostly stupid—generally they were so fun to be tricked—stupid enough to get excited over his Dad’s newest book (that hadn’t even been started the writing) and calling his holy Musiq Soulchid’s collections a boring . But they were totally not that dumb to just bear with every single thing he said. Anyone who would fall for that lame trap is a total blockhead.

            Yeah, right, they were must not be that bad.

            Oh how wrong he was.

            “You’re getting cuter too Kyungsoo-yah!”

            “Yeah, you rock that green sweater, as expected from Seoul beauty!”

            “I notice you’ve lost some weight from the last time we met. You look more handsome now, Do-ssi, very handsome.”

            “Uh-uh, don’t you think we should go on a date sometime?”

            “Hey, come here, give me your phone number.”

            He didn’t care for the last two sentences a tall boy (with pouty lips) in pastel blue jacket—what was his name again? Lee Jae Hwo? No. Lee Jae Hwan? Kyungsoo shrugged. He only knew the boy was called Ken by pretty much everyone—and his friend, the Wonbin boy from before, told him; because all his focus was clambering rapidly to the fact that they, his dear classmates, actually ate Kyungsoo’s entire bad acting up.

            Because.

            They.

            Were.

            Actually.

            That stupid.

            —At first there was only a deep chuckle. He didn’t need to check twice to make sure that it belonged to Chanyeol.

            The awkward boy clapped his hand with an excessive gesture that made Kyungsoo felt for a moment like he was an object of circus. But Chanyeol was indeed beautiful. A childish kind of beautiful. Even with tacky red cap on his head and the pitiful haircut. Or his peculiarly big ears. The morning sunray burned through his autumn uniform, right onto the gap between Chanyeol’s recklessly buttoned shirt—Kyungsoo tried to look away, he shouldn’t be amazed by the likes of him. Then he glanced at Baekhyun. Nervously. Their eyes almost met; it only took a few seconds for him to shift his gaze down. The truth it was so hard to avoid his cheeks from getting hot. And for the first time his heart had stopped beating. Not literally, for sure. Just, the sensation, he guessed. Or was it actually beating a little too fast he couldn’t distinguish the loudness from silence? Kyungsoo squinted. He knew the right answer. Every now and again, Baekhyun’s eyes were bursting with charm. His pair of small, melancholic eyes; jumping from chamoise, to mahogany, to taupe, tolling in happiness whenever he laughed—pure and immaculate—, and these he shooted into the endlessness of blue sky whenever he wasn’t feeling like listening to class lesson, chin resting on right upper wrist.

            It was bad. He had fallen in too deep.

            Having enough of Chanyeol’s chuckle (and Baekhyun’s stare) Kyungsoo turned toward the door, wishing for their history teacher to soon arrive. It was so noisy for a little while. Then the girl at Baekhyun’s left started to laugh as well, followed by Park Sun Young whose hands were covering to prevent her pretty small teeth from being seen and the Wongbin boy, a few seconds behind her, whose name wasn’t actually Wongbin but Kyungsoo just didn’t have any urge to care. And after that, it was everyone’s turn to praise his cuteness and how adorable he was with his face pale from ‘cold morning’. One by one.

            From a tiny, squibing laughter to a more explosive ones, and just in two minutes—

            He had won the victory.

            But just as—

            Just as his classmates were busy eating Kyungsoo’s lies up, just as their history teacher finally showed his annoying face, just as he was about to reach past the front of his seat, just as he was about to sit, just as his world began to slouche deep in an odd feeling of serenity, just as he happened to accidentally fix his gaze to Baekhyun—and the wind moved against his cranning neck, light brown met with pitch black—, just as Baekhyun opened his lips, just as the broad shouldered boy uttered a whisper, and Kyungsoo might be thinking about the last cherry blossoms petals he would spot falling above his stretched shoelaces on the first day of winter, while lowering his sleeves, and the smell of seashore hitting his nostrils; climbing into the fine, cold morning; the tips of his fingers; the stitch of Baekhyun’s red muffler where he could taste a rush of adrenaline up there; just as that—

            “Meet me at break. We have something to discuss together.”

            Just as that, Baekhyun took that victory back.

 

****

            Three days had passed after that.

            “What the he—that hurts!” was Jongdae’s reaction when Kyungsoo punched him right in the head.

            They met that afternoon in a quiet corridor of male restroom. He was creeping along the wall at lunch to avoid a certain board-shouldered boy, cagey enough to put on a face mask so that nobody could recognize him—especially the aforementioned board-shouldered boy with a pair of prettiest brown eyes he had ever seen in his entire life; color so sweet, and sugary, and switching over many shades of brown all the time you could not ensure which was the rightest one—and that was the odds when he encountered the source of his middle-school problems two last previous weeks walking out stiffly from somewhere. Somewhere not important.

            Jongdae, Kim Jongdae; Jong as in loud and Dae as in chimes. Loud chimes. He went into a fast comatose when Kyungsoo walked behind him, as if something horrible had shattered him and together with the mute afternoon his mind went rigid. Full rigid. He looked a great deal as how a shocked person must have appeared. Albeit his shocked face wasn’t good to look at, and beneath in the depth of his goggling eyes, a reflection of the empty corridor and a stain of spilled tteobokki sauce on the floor—definitely some naughty kids had skipped class and spent their time eating wrapped tteobokki there. Minutes slipped away in a bustle. When he came back to his sense, Kyungsoo was already slipping into a place before him with his arms swinging the faint air, flipping like a bird until they were facing each other.

            “Serves you right,” Kyungsoo grinned, a little viciously, and laughed the way a little devil would have gone.

            Jongdae put one hand on his twitching head and blinked severeal times. It was swelling. His shadows staggered slightly at the back. His fingers scrubbed the swelling spot on his head as though jostling it slowly to corner. He stopped somehow when the swell wasn’t visible anymore and pressed his lips hard. In his silence, Kyungsoo had a feeling that Jongdae was gonna burst. But for some reasons the thing never happened. “Why do you do this to me?” he stared out of eyes teary from either dust or detained anger.

            Stepping over, Kyungsoo kept his voice calm and shrugged at him. “Because you deserve it?”

            “I didn’t do anything!” Jongdae protested. A little too noisy just as a loud chimes he was. A piping shriek, skyrocketed inspite of his small built, it quelled his sentence. Probably from the anger within his mumble. His ears had turned purple, skin like baked sweet potato. Ripe, old color. Ripe, old, young flesh. Then through the sleepy afternoon, nearly in slow motion a pair of fiery eyes stared intently at Kyungsoo. There was a pause afterwards. The two of them were lost in a world of no words. But before the atmosphere was able to become warmer, Jongdae had said again in a softer voice, “I didn’t do anything.”

            Kyungsoo rolled his eyes. He dragged in the nearest air and it hard his lungs almost explode from sudden breathing.  “Oh, you did so many things.”

            “I’m sorry,” Jongdae barely made a whisper, “I didn’t know that it’ll turn this bad.”

            The afternoon churned and twisted with a puff of falling leaves. He squeezed one with his palm and looked at the school yard. It was filled with crumbly twigs and dead mapples. Kyungsoo had no idea how long it took the leaves to reach past the window beside him. They could’ve been reeling with the wind for eternity, having no knowledge of their whereabouts, or their destination, and only got here a while ago. After an interval they might clash with the same wind and start another long journey. Again, huddled together, covered in each other last flake waiting the exact moment to say goodbye and reincarnate into some heavy morning mists. Oh, what a sad autumn, he said to himself at last.

            Fixing the length of his sweater cuff, Kyungsoo walked over to Jongdae and said with a hit at the trembling boy’s shoulders, “You should’ve kept it to yourself.”

            “What should’ve I kept to myself?”

            “Whatever you said to me last week that has caused this ruckuss.”

            “I was only joking, okay!” Jongdae attempted to fight back the beating, “I’ve never guessed that it’s true. You seem to like him. But then again,” only to end up receiving yet another swarm of smack, “so does everybody el—hey, stop it! Your fists are small but they sure as hell punch well!”

            And the story drove Kyungsoo actually had a little sympathy within his nonchalant heart. He took back his hands, those hands who had thrown a sheet of seasoned seaweed at his teacher’s wouldn’t-stop-talking mouth one day in his grade-school times, and put them inside his pocket and hummed knowingly. “Okay, I’ll stop here,” his tune was full of innocence, making it sounded more like a casual chat between two best friends than an apology. “Sorry, my Dad said the pain lasts long. I think you should buy a couple of ice bag to endure it.”

            Jongdae only stared at him in disbelief. Kyungsoo found it funny how the boy glared at him while rubbing the place where Kyungsoo had launched his beating at, but not bearing even a single word. It as though he was cursing at him, somewhere there in the back of his mind, with a very, very small Jongdae-ish voice that was as annoying as loudest chimes.

            “Do you like him that much?” the boy asked at one pampered point. He was in a pure confusion. And as he waited for his answer, a curious feeling stormed out of the corridor.

            Kyungsoo held his breath and nodded. He almost choked in the process. “Yes.”

            “You really find him that attractive?”

            “Yeah.”

            “Really?”

            There was not yet an answer, but Jongdae quickly slapped his forehead lightly and muttered, “Stupid me. Of course you do. Everyone does find him attractive anyway. But if that’s the case, then why are you avoiding—”

            “What shall I do?’ he cut Jongdae fast. “I have no guts to talk to him.”

            He wished he was holding anything in his hands so he could toss it at Jongdae’s face when the boy started to laugh. “Oh, Dear. Why?”

            “He probably hates me.”

            “I have no idea why you think that way.”

            “I don’t feel very comfortable when he looks at me,” there wasn’t much need for him to lie, so he outpored the truth. “If that isn’t hatred, then I don’t know what it is.”

            Jongdae stood smirking on the other side and went into crouch with his elbows on window stool. Illuminated by his nature, Kyungsoo followed after him. The leaves were falling in a noise he had never heard before. Beneath the grey sky, the school yard was still empty. Usually popular kids would play basketball at near end of lunch break and whenever they did that, screams ricocheted from all directions. Kyungsoo was one of the rare viewers who never raised his voice. And along with his giant bestfriend, Baekhyun was one of the popular students who received the loudest squeals. He had pictured the board shouldered boy’s smile perfectly. Sometimes his eyes would disappear in half moon. He would run along the yard with his small legs tredding alternately. Once in a while he also merged with scenery, with the adolescent autumn sunshine and thin, almost non existent layer of haze, that enveloped the sky of Goseung-gun. But it was raining earlier in the morning. The ground was wet and slippery. Those popular kids had no reason to do their afternoon routines and Kyungsoo had no chance to admire Baekhyun from an empty corner of the school with all his soundless might.

            “Now, there,” he caught Jongdae spoke slowly, “look. He isn’t like that. Baekhyun never hated anyone.”

            “Yeah, but he hates me now,” Kyungsoo replied. And before Jongdae had any opportunity to talk back, he added directly into Jongdae’s right ear hole, “He hates me because of you. If not for that small accident at the cantine—”

            “Go talk to Baekhyun,” Jongdae rushed in. “Go talk,” he ceased when a distant lightning rumbled, splitting the town into white glints, “go talk to him. That’s right. You gotta talk to him. It has been three days since you started avoiding him and I see he already run out of patience. I mean, seriously, for how long do you want to play this hide and seek game with him? Mind Baekhyun’s side of the views too. At least if you don’t want him to hate you, you should align the situation. After all you were the one who admitted your feelings. There’s no way he would just ignore it.”

            “No way. No way in hell I would do that. He would probably get disgusted. Look, I’m not a girl.”

            “And?” Jongdae turned to him with furrowed brow. It seemed he was seeking for the logic behind everything occured in the whole world. He grabbed his hair to show some frustration, and especially with that narrowing camel-like orbs his face told Kyungsoo that he was completely puzzled.

            “It’s not normal!” Kyungsoo blew up eventually. “Boys should be with girls, girls should be with boys. There’s no other way around. Here, take the example. Luna-yah, you know that girl? Yes, the one with the ever cheerful smile. She is pretty. And smart. She has a crush on Baekhyun. Everyone can see that. But it’s alright. It’s normal for her. Because she’s a girl. And her singing sounds like a miracle. It would match with Baekhyun so-called amazing voice. But me, I’m a boy. I like him too. And eventhough people call me pretty everytime, I’m not a girl. I’m not Luna. And my singing voice is lacking in many parts. Actually I can’t even sing without straining my notes. I’m just this bathroom singer who likes to listen to rhythm and blues songs a lot and acts cool. I’m not like you, Kim-ssi. I’m not like Baekhyun. Or even Chanyeol. This feeling is not supposed to happen. And worse—”

            And worse?

            “And worse,” Kyungsoo saw the yard sentenced with another rain; the third on that day, “and worse,” he sighed, “and worse he hates me.”

            And worse, he hates me.

 

****

           

            Two days had passed since Kyungsoo sniffed his snot out in front of Jongdae. He had continued to avoid Baekhyun since then. In total, he had done it for five days. Add two more and he would get a week. Add those seven days when he was dealing with diarrhea and the fear of facing Byun Baekhyun, and he would get two spheroid weeks of being a complete skittish loser.

            “Hey, stop!”

            But suddenly, Baekhyun was there.

            He. Was. There. Stood short before the path that led Kyungsoo downstair, all proud in his autumn uniform that had wrinkle here and everywhere. Looking impatient. Black shoes tapping on the floor loudly. His mouth was covered by red muffler, the same one as what he wore the morning before, causing his eyes and some part of his nose to be the only visible ones. Face fierce as forged iron. He figured that perhaps the boy was also frowning beneath the fabric. As if he wanted to swear at everything. At everyone. Sulking there in his world of anger. Brown eyes exposed by sunlight. Mumbling. A sheet of tissue in hand. Maybe he was caught in a cold.

            “Hey!” he shouted and then Kyungsoo heard some more mumble. “We need to talk.”

            It was a somewhat windy afternoon. Kyungsoo half expected Baekhyun’s voice to come out as raw and airy, but it wasn’t. His face burned at how it sounded, so aflame he had to dart a glance elseway to hide the blushes. “Can’t you wait until tomorrow?”

            Baekhyun struck just the shortest answer. “No,” the boy rubbed his lips, right shoulder hunched backward in silent motion, “can’t do that,” he murmured, then he raised his voice at the that part and carefully leaned his back on the wall. One leg crossing another. There was a gust of lonesome weave when he stayed that way, hands trailing the wall surface. His nails was the same color as dead magenta. He was wearing his bag like his life was attached to it. Each grip made his long fingers turned paler. And speaking of which, he looked a bit different. Kyungsoo felt as if a some kind of ghostly curtain had eaten him up and replaced him with this new, half translucent Byun Baekhyun. In a manner that Kyungsoo could sense some parts of his emotion, that was quite rare. If not very. Or, extremely.

            Because as far as he could remember, Baekhyun never showed his true feeling.

            Not in front of him. Not in front of anyone else. Baekhyun would laugh every single damn time, but it was all but cheap pretense.

            He knew it. He just did. Kyungsoo was used to reading people. Something he revlexively do in empty time. Baekhyun wasn’t an exception. Actually the boy was pretty easy to recite. An open book, Kyungsoo might add. The whole of him screamed contrived. Synthetic. Forced. Far-fetched. His jokes all sounded barren.

            There was something pitiful about him, and Kyungsoo could see inside it.

            He talked about nonsese things all the time, sometimes using kkaebsong which Kyungsoo refused to understand. Baekhyun may hated him, but with his mouth closed he was a rather gloomy kid. Baekhyun had implied it all the days Kyungsoo had been there. He saw a potrait of sadness whenever Baekhyun gazed outside of the class window and the pen in his grip touched the corner of his mouth, unmoving as the time continued to sprout. Hair swiveled with morning wind. But still in the one month between his move and his days of observing Baekhyun, Kyungsoo was unable to find the boy’s true feeling. He was like a polar orbit. His eyes the sparkling heading and all people in this place were drooping sattelites, orbitting in each rotation of their own. All had falllen for him. All had fallen for his slanted eyes. All including Kyungsoo. Between his whole dissemblance, only his eyes seemed to guard the same warming stare.

            Unable to think of much anything. Kyungsoo stopped glancing aimlessly and took a deep breath. “A—is it that serious?”

            “ ‘Uh huh.”

            “But,” Kyungsoo turned the rest of his body facing him. It was hard doing so when Baekhyun was watching his every move. “You see, Byun-ssi,” he began slowly, “I’m pretty busy right—”

            Baekhyun abruptly looked at him full in the face. “You’re a liar.”

            “What?”

            “Yesterday—actually, days before that—you forgot to meet me at break,” he answered, piercing his glare toward Kyungsoo.

            “I never agreed to meet you at the first place,” the accused boy gathered his nerve altogether to glare back. “So it’s not nice for you to call me a liar, you hear me, Byun-ssi?”

            “Wait,” Baekhyun said as soon as his lips parted, “what a joke,” he repeated these words twice before sticking his nose in the air. If he wasn’t too bothered by Baekhyun’s rude intonation, Kyungsoo would realize that he might have been angered him more.

            “Why? You don’t like it? I’m not attracted to this joke much either.”

            “Hey, I’m not finished yet. You’re still a liar. You’re not even busy right now. I can see it. You were trying to trick me. What a liar. A liar. You’re a liar.”

            Kyungsoo was fuming already. “Can you please stop it? I’m not a liar!”

            “No,” Baekhyun straightened his body; red muffler fell to the floor. A reddish bruise peeking from under his uncovered collar. The one that breaks out when skin makes contact with boiling water. Kyungsoo looked into it carefully. The reddish bruise with clear blister. And by the extent of the redness, it seemed pretty new. He lowered his stare and found another one. This time it wasn’t red colored, but blue. An ugly kind of blue. Kyungsoo sensed a throbbing going through his whole spine when he thought about it and pushed his brain to sort it out. Was he bullied? No way. Baekhyun was loved by the people of this small country. From classmates, to teachers, to common students, to fisheremen who only got home every low-tide days. Then was it a—a child abuse? Nah, that escalated much quickly. It could’ve been just a bug bite. Two bug bites. But somehow it mas more than that. But what? He couldn’t crack it. It was getting harder to tell the truth for Baekhyun had noticed that Kyungsoo was gaping at him. In one absentminded gesture, he picked his red muffler then rolled it back around its former place. “You are a liar.”

            Kyungsoo sticked a hand on his mouth. He tried to think about other things but failed. Forgetting is hard. Especially when you have good memories. Kyungsoo did. He was bound to remember things. Nothing changed in his vision for the upcoming moment. He only saw a bruise. Two bruises. Two bruises on Baekhyun’s neck. On the smooth and pale surface. The afternoon spread out before him. Those bruises were asking for his attention. Please notice us. Please do something about it.

            “I’m not a liar,” he declared between thought.

            “A liar,” Baekhyun retorted as fingers rested below his shoulders. “A liar.”

            “I said I’m not.”

            “You a—okay.”

            “Okay what?”

            “Okay, you’re still a liar.”

            “I told you I’m not.”

            “No, you are.”

            “Am not!”

            Both boys were furious. “You are!”

            “Am not!”

            “You a—”

            “I’m not a liar, alright!” Kyungsoo clenched his fist and then gritted his teeth. “Not even close,” he insisted. And he meant it. He wasn’t a liar.

            A quick, mysterious grimace adorned Baekhyun’s pretty face. Kyungsoo wondered whether smiles could kill, but if they do, he would’ve been murdered by Baekhyun’s since the first enconter. Then he guessed it was a good thing.

            Still strapping his fingers below his shoulders, Baekhyun spoke through nimbling eyelashes, “You said you like me. Then you said you don’t. Then after that you called me handsome. Then you deceived our classmates by your ty acting. Then you avoided me for things that aren’t my fault. What fun it was for you, pasting lies all over the place?”

            Kyungsoo didn’t speak after that. Thirty seconds of staring at his feet and the man standing in front of him started getting impatient. Kyungsoo was full aware of the situation. It was all so obvious. By the way Baekhyun rolled his small eyes to him more than once, all the unpleasing token showed on his near triangular face, the man was clearly angry. Which was quite understandable since Kyungsoo had avoided him and his calls throughout the week, and continued to do that till the last lesson of the day ended. Not to mention that he was being an . But he wasn’t prepared to understand anything. Until that time, he had only known he was doing wrong. Not much beside that. On the record shelf inside his heart he realized he was indeed a part-timer liar, but he just wouldn’t admit it. Sometimes living in denial is more pleasing than going through a period of forlorn scenes.

            Ticking. Ticking. The clock behind him didn’t seem to stop ticking. The more ticking sound he captured, the more nervous Kyungsoo got. Stepping back, he put down his black iPhone and shoved it into his pants pocket. Now he learned that Baekhyun was humming a familiar tone. Though his croon vanished in an instant, Kyungsoo still managed to find out the name of the song. Life In a Glass House. Taken with astonishment, Kyungsoo sniffed, squinted his round eyes, and studied his crush. He should be surprised because Baekhyun seemed to listen to Radiohead a lot. But he didn’t. He knew from the start that Baekhyun was different. He suspected Chanyeol behind this Radiohead thingy, but it could just be him alone. Kyungsoo had caught him mulling the interlude of You and Whose Army? too the other day, and couldn’t help but questioning Baekhyun’s taste. He could be listening to OK Computer, Kid A, The Bends, or In Rainbows, but Baekhyun chose the ever depressing Amnesiac of all the albums. The one with dark, gruesome tracks and somber lyrics. She is papering the window panes, she is putting on a smile—he was once again humming to this part. Once again, packed like frozen food and battery hens. It was sang a key higher. His pitch was unsurprisingly thinner than he expected to appear. It ended up pulling Kyungsoo to think about his two bruises.

            Those bruises, what secrets lied behind them?

            He saw them now as an enigma. Actually Baekhyun and his existence alone was an enigma. The red bruise and the blue bruise. And his pale skin, and the lithe bone of his neck. Kyungsoo would carefully tread thoses bruises with the tip of his fingers on a silent night. He didn’t know why and he didn’t ask himself about it. He just realized that he would do it. And not in a haste. Not in a boring perpetuity either. Thoses bruises and Amnesiac and Radiohead and Goseong-gun and Baekhyun seemed to match each other well. One end of each served as the pillar for the remains. Baekhyun the largest of them all.

            His brain was still hurt from the thought. From the image of Baekhyun’s bruises and the boy’s rude words. There was only black within his vision. He knew he had never really had something to say to Baekhyun, but somewhere along the line he heard himself asking from the top of his head, “But can’t you really wait until tomorrow? And can’t we go to a more proper place? School is no place for throwing a serious talk.”

            “Says who?” he got his answer, which was unfortunately a question, just a second after.

            “Who what?”

            “School is no place for throwing a serious talk. Says who?”

            “Does it really matter?” the white of his eyes made his orbs looked rounder when he slung yet another question.

            “Well, yes. It does really matter. Or I can say that you’re just lying. But you’re a liar after all so—”

            “Says me. Satisfied?” and Baekhyun shook his head. “Oh, God—”

            “Okay, okay, scratch that, shortie,” the owner of that annoying, husky voice stopped him, “I don’t care. We have quite an issue to talk about. This isn’t counted. And I’m not going to wait anytime soon. See, this is why you shouldn’t have messed with people’s life. And what now? Are you trying to run away too this time?”

            Baekhyun was right. Kyungsoo was trying to run away. He didn’t remember how he managed to escape that day. He didn’t remember how he was able to slide through the slit between stairs and Baekhyun’s armpit and boosted his bike home, tears guttered from his doe eyes and he didn’t know how. He didn’t remember how he cried, and why did he do that, and what he was crying about, because he was never been the maudlin type; because he was a liar, a prude, a meany, a spawn of satan perhaps in his past life, but he never actually cried. No one should’ve been crying just from seeing two strange bruises on his crush’s neck, one blue and one red, and they weren’t there the last time Kyungsoo snuck a peek on that young skin. No one. No one should ever be. But then again he couldn’t erase that memory, he could never do that, he might want to think about the way out but it would be fruitless. Thoses bruises were calling out for him. Those brown eyes were chanting for his name. Come here, save me, find the truth about me, analyze me, take me; I’ll be your polar orbit, come and I’ll claim you as my satellite. On. And on. Carried forth and onward. Forth, and onward. And scattered at the form of his bedroom door. He wished his heart was made of stone.

 

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To be continued