Midnight, and a few minutes after.

And Jongin still hasn't left.  But I don't mind.

__

I lie awake in bed, arms crossed over my chest as I think.  A mental list forms in my head; a list of ways to tell the difference between model Jongin, and human Jongin.

Since he stepped into my home today, I suddenly assumed that model Jongin is regal and confident.  I know he speaks very little but the voice in his words drowns out everything else.  Model Jongin has no roots.  He comes from the outside world and finds comfort in a room made of mortar and brick.  Model Jongin lives for the camera to prove that he is worth the meaning of waking up and earning a living.  Model Jongin is cold.

Now, I'm slowly beginning to understand why human Jongin calls me hyung.  Why and how he knows when to speak, but also when to keep quiet.  Human Jongin comes from a mysterious past, one he calls a secret if I ever were to ask about it.  Human Jongin isn't afraid to tell me what's on his mind, and not afraid to hear what's on mine.  He sits beside me to make sure that I'm intact, sane.  Human Jongin is young and childish.  Human Jongin is comforting.

As the night grows shorter, human Jongin decides to wake up the both of us.

"Hyung."

"Hmm," I say, eyelids heavy.

"I have a question."

"I'm sleeping."

I hear the pile of blankets on the floor shuffle as he turns onto his side.  I imagine his lithe form rounded under the thin fabric, forced in between layers of cotton and carpet.

"Was Alice really ever lost?" he says.

I sigh.  "Alice who?"

"In Wonderland," is the reply.

"Oh.  What do you mean lost?"

"I mean, did she really get lost?  In a world that she created on her own?  Or was she just looking for questions to her answers.  Maybe she was just confused."

I sigh again, noticeably too tired to think, but I feel that Jongin brought this up on purpose - he wants me to think.  "Confused.  Lost.  She was just dreaming," I answer.  "Don't worry about it."

"Hyung," he says again, sitting up suddenly.  His ears are perked and his voice is bright because now he's listening to himself.  "You know, lost and confused are two different things.  Being lost is looking for the right direction to go in.  Being confused is looking for the right thing to do, even when it's wrong."

"Jongin," I mutter.

"Yes."

"Go to sleep."

He lies down again and I wait for his breathing to quiet.  My senses are on edge now that I know Jongin has his own sparked curiosity, as well as mine.  It's difficult to fall asleep again when his energy has already buzzed throughout the cramped room, woven its way into the corners of my bed and begged to lie down next to me.

Five minutes later, a little voice beckons. "Hyung.  Hyung."

"I told you n--"

"Not to call you that, I know."  He sits up again and the heat in the room changes because now Jongin is up on the bed.  On my bed.

"It's cold on the floor."

I anchor myself against the sheets, unwillingly giving up a large portion of the blanket to him.  I'm awake now, and he crawls under easily, as if this were something not foreign to either of us.  A routine.  

"How can you live in a place like this?" he asks.  He tugs the blanket toward himself.  "No heater, broken shutters, empty driveways, and a neighborhood where everyone's door is locked all the time.  How do you do it?"

I can tell that he finds this lifestyle suffocating.  There isn't much to change up because everyday, I wake up and fall asleep the same person.  The same routine and the same reasons to not end that routine.  Kyungsoo will always be Kyungsoo, and I haven't found a reason to make it any different.

But I want to tell him that it's as horrible as living in what they call luxury.  Because around here, luxury is a threat.

"Perfect curtains, perfect cars, perfect houses," I say, eyes closed, picturing my words in earthly form.  "I would rather live in a shed without a proper welcome mat, than a house with one that says welcome even though it doesn't always mean it."

"Maybe," he argues, "you're just afraid to step out.  Be heard.  Be noticed.  A human needs to do those things.  Do all of those things before there isn't any time left."

I argue back.  "It doesn't matter if I do those things.  It's as useless as playing a game when you know you will lose.  You've heard people speak of monthly salaries, democracies, and damned golden opportunities.  What about those broken pencils, unread books, and abandoned dreams.  None of these things will matter because we're all the same in the end anyway."

"What's that?"

"Dead."

I swallow heavily when I realize that I've darkened the subject more than I intended to.  But I continue.  "We are all going to die.  What's the point of living if we're all just going to die anyway?"  My mind shakes, as if I heard someone tell me the exact same thing before.

"Hyung, the point is not to live.  The point is to finish living, knowing that you did it right."

We've come to a dead end, I confess to myself.  I know this.  I've reached a point in time where living is meaningless, where I can't tell if I'm being happy for the right reasons, or believing in the right people, or saying the right words.  A point in time when everything is wrong when I think it isn't, and there isn't a place for me fall on.  I've come this far, and there's nothing left to do but spin round and round again.  

I've come to the point where circles are made of only curved lines, bent and strewn across a white landscape in order to confuse me.  

There is no purpose to continue.

"But the purpose is out there," Jongin murmurs, nudging my arm.  "You just have to find it, before it escapes you.  Before it's too late."