"We are here to report this morning a suspected case of homicide occurring on the west side of town. The body of a missing young man has been located, downtown police say.  He was discovered resting beside an open storage box and was found at approximately six o'clock this morning.  Though it is assumed that this is a case of homicide, there have been no identifiable signs of inflicted harm."

I turn away from the television to etch this into my notebook.  Missing body, resting.  Objective 508.

"Officials report that this young man has been missing for nearly two weeks before he was found today. We are waiting for family members or known relatives to confirm his disappearance.  While the cause of his death is unclear, police encourage the contribution of any evidence or observations that will aid the investigation on Mr. Ki--"

I spin with surprise in my chair when the voice of the reporter on the television is cut off, replaced by a blank, black screen.

"Sorry," Jongin mutters against my annoyance, setting down the remote control.  "These things are a bit too sad for me watch so early in the morning."

I tuck my pen into the notebook and set it aside.  I turn to face him and keeps his head low.  

I swallow forcibly, still trying to process the fact that it was just yesterday that I spent three hours talking to him.  Three hours exposed under the glare of morning rain and clouds.  Three hours unearthing a little more of Jongin, a little bit more of the young man who was so distant and mysterious to me before.  It was just yesterday that he suddenly disappeared from my reach.  And still, I do not know how he returned.

Today, his lips look like they haven't turned up in a long time.  His eyes are darker than I remember and I can't bring myself to say if it's from lack of sleep, or lack of sun.  His shoulders are weak as he straightens his back, letting out a sigh.  He looks like he wants to carry on with his day but I know that there is something he wants to tell me.

I move away from the television, settling myself at the opposite end of the room where we sat on the first day he came to the studio.  Jongin follows, keeping a distance.

I wipe my hands across the front of my trousers.  "It's not really a sad thing, I would say.  It's more of a...natural process."  

My legs sigh as I sit.  I ponder upon whether to explain my thoughts or to begin a discussion for which Jongin will realize for himself - that death should never be a sad thing.  "We're all going to be like him, at one point."

"So you're saying that one day, we'll all be killed and dumped next to a storage bin."

"He wasn't killed," I say with a tip of my head.  "He was found dead."

Jongin scoffs, not out of irritation but rather amusement.  He utters, "There's a difference to you?"

"It's only different because we get there in different ways.  In any cause, we're all going to end like that.  Like that man."  I turn back to the television, silent in remorse, wishing I knew how the story ended.  Wondering if they're ever going to find out why, or how that man died.  I want to know.

"If I were any crazier, I would tell you that I probably know how that man died, if that's what you look so sullen about."

"It wouldn't matter even if I did know," I lie.  "It's over when it's over."

Jongin smirks.  "You sound like you need some coffee," he says.  "I'll be right back."

__

"One, or two sugars?"

"None.  You know I like my coffee bitter."

Jongin throws in a few spoons of sugar anyway, despite my reminder.  He stirs a few times, the teaspoon hitting against the side of the cup with a satisfying, rhythmic clink.  

"I hear that bitter coffee is bad for your health," he says, placing the cup before me.  

"I hear that sugar is also bad for your health," I retort as he sits down across the table.  I reach for the cup and take a sip without waiting for the liquid to cool.  The sweetness chaps the tip of my tongue.

"I guess we're both putting our lives at risk," Jongin says.  "To us."  He raises his cup unceremoniously and I watch as he swallows it all in one breath.

I sip again, the brisk flavor as languid as the sound of Jongin's voice when he doesn't speak.

"It's funny, you know," he says suddenly, tapping the side of his empty cup with his forefinger as he continues.  "They reported that man's death as the discovery of a body."

"I know," I reply, a hint of paradox at the end of my sentence.  "A body."

"Not the son of a lonely mother, or one half to a fading relationship.  Not as a person, but a body, as if dying makes you any less human."

I nod inadvertently, thoughts fixed on his last words.  As if dying makes you any less human.  I find the significance to remind myself to fix my notes.  Missing person, not missing body.  I sip again, realizing that Jongin has changed me.  My thoughts are less of my own and more a mix of Jongin and Kyungsoo.  He's influenced me in ways I can't explain.

"Hyung."  A long pause. " Hyung.  I wonder."

"About?"  I sip my drink again, now more bitter than before.

"Am I human to you?" 

I raise my head as he allows his to dip.  A small, almost pitiful grin lines his lips.  "I've been curious," he continues, "if you really see me as human."

"Nonsense again."

"No, no it's not.  I'm saying that I am not human.  I am not human, hyung."

"Many of us are not human, Jongin.  Only confused souls trying to understand each other.  Don't be mistaken."

He lets out a laugh so dark that it burns the black in my cup.  Like he's ready to prove me wrong.

"I guess not being human to you, is different than not being human to me.  I'm not human and there is a reason for that, but I want one thing."

I nod. 

"I want you to not be afraid of me."  

I stare into his eyes.  They speak of romance novels and long nights spent in front of a television where shows about laughing people play.

He leans forward in his chair and across the table, until our faces are inches apart.  "Are you afraid of me?"

I blink slowly.  Once, twice--surprised because of the minute distance between us but also because I realize that I can still see the shape of his face when my eyes are closed.  It frightens me.  If this is how Jongin likes to prove people wrong, I can almost guarantee that he succeeds every time.  The force in his mere presence is enough to turn anyone's thoughts astray.  Even mine.

"You don't have to be afraid of me," he says, his voice now a familiar whisper.  I can feel his heavy breathing as he moves even closer, the sound of his presence louder than the sound my churning thoughts.  "I don't want you to be afraid of me."

"I'm not afraid," I reply, just as quietly.  My head spins incomprehensibly while my mouth is so dry.  Jongin getting is close, too close. "I'm not afraid of you."  I shut my eyes to block him out.  "Just don't disappear again."

"Like I did yesterday? What happens if I do?" he coaxes, ambiguity filling my ears.

I swallow.  "I think I'll miss you."

My eyes shoot open, the crimson rising in my cheeks.  I've let myself disclose too much once again.  My hands travel together and I knead them in my lap.  I try to avert my gaze, the same familiar feeling of embarrassment and confrontation clouds my thoughts and I wonder what Jongin thinks of me.

I look up.

Jongin is in the chair across from me, just as he was.  I can't differentiate the feeling of relief - because he hasn't mysteriously disappeared like before, and aggravation - because now I have to face him again.  Except he doesn't move, only holds the same grave smile, the same slouching posture with his chin in his hand, his finger tapping the rim of his empty cup. 

Just a rhythmic Tap.  Tap.  Tap.

I sigh for what might be the umpteenth time.  But this time, I'm positive that it is a sigh of relief.  Just relief.