When Lee Jinki disappeared beyond the airport security line, Jonghyun did not cry.

He couldn’t and he wouldn’t. Crying had become a luxury after he’d shed all the tears he had to offer from the night he first heard of the news and every time thereafter he was reminded of their impending separation. And he really did not have any strength left to rein in tears once they fall, so his genius plan was to empty himself of emotions, of thoughts—of anything at all.

But he couldn’t keep it in for so long all. A second later, he bolted to the gates, sped through the highway, and half-ran across the front lawn to the apartment he lived in with Jinki up until five hours ago.

The tears finally spilled the moment he closed the door behind him. Consumed with sinking feeling of aloneness, he folded in on himself on the floor, hands clutching desperately at his own sleeves, face burying in the pinstriped scarf Jinki wrapped around him earlier.

Jinki is the one--he’d been so sure of that. They hadn’t been living together for the past four years for nothing (they’d only been sharing apartment for college but, well, same thing) after dating for two years in high school on top of that.

Their home life—him waking up earlier to fix them breakfast; them going grocery shopping together; Jinki taking him on meticulously planned dates during the weekend, him dragging Jinki out of his study desk for impromptu dates; them enjoying the eventual conclusion of their nights out in the comfort of their bed, after defiling every inch of their house in their haste to touch each other—was something he pictured himself enjoying every day, til death do us part.

But they parted sooner than death, sooner than what Jonghyun had counted on.

During dinner last week, Jinki completely blindsided Jonghyun by telling him he was leaving. On a Wednesday night no less, they day of the week that always—except that one in particular—ended with languorous, drawn-out lovemaking (Jonghyun preferred “lovemaking” to “”), a ritual initiated by Jinki because he claimed it fueled him for the rest of his long week. His Wednesday habit and vision of forever were shot down the drain in one go.

His world stopped in mid-bite. Thinking he might have missed a thought somewhere, he tried to work his brain, prod at the gears to process Jinki’s solemn, “I’m leaving for London next week,” into a conclusion that involved Jinki not leaving. For London. Next week.

But the statement was painfully straightforward and, coupled by the unsmiling look on Jinki’s face, it wasn’t a joke either.

Jonghyun tried anyway, anything to hold onto his steadily dwindling sanity. “You’re joking, right?”

God knows how un-funny and inappropriate some of Jinki’s jokes could be. This would definitely take the cake—if it were one. He prayed so hard it was one; it did not matter if it’s outrageously un-funny or inappropriate. He could live with that, but not anything else.

He tried not to show the panic on his face; in case this was a joke, he couldn’t get caught letting it under his skin. But over the mad drumming of his heart, his brain cannot hear any of its own commands.

Jinki’s face remained grave and unyielding, and it squashed at what little hope he had. “It’s the scholarship for the Master’s program we talked about. I got in.” In a much quieter voice, letting his grief show, he continued. “I must go.”

“But wasn’t that scholarship awarded to someone else months ago?” Really. Seriously.  Jonghyun remembered it was; Jinki had griped about it incessantly after he learned he wasn’t chosen.


He could clearly recall relief had spread through his body and doused at the anxiety that had unknowingly knotted in his joints upon hearing that Jinki wasn’t going anywhere. It was predictably followed by a sudden wave of shame and guilt for having only selfish, self-serving thoughts.

It wasn’t as if he did not want Jinki to succeed, to explore, to chase after his dreams—far from it in fact, because Jinki’s happiness was his own. Still, Jonghyun knew how miserable and incomplete he’d be without Jinki, having depended on him for too long, first as a friend, then as a lover, to remember what it was like otherwise. The time he walked alone to and from school had been so long ago, like a different era altogether.

Truth be told, Jonghyun was half-tempted to pack his bags and follow Jinki to London, and he’d told him as much when Jinki first informed him about the scholarship.  For a while, they were excited about the idea of relocating to a new place, and more importantly about staying together, but when he’d gotten a job offer from his dream company that required him to remain in Seoul, they both decided—he had to remain in Seoul.

Now the thoughts of dropping his work and staying firmly by Jinki’s side resurfaced—a clear sign of desperation. These were poisonous thoughts that would spark a cycle of guilt and regret. But they would not happen. In any case, Jinki won’t let them.

Jonghyun had not even realized they’d stopped talking for a long time—he’d retreated into his mind, imagining a world of possibilities—until Jinki broke the silence. “Another spot opened. I got in,” Jinki said dryly.

“When did you know about this?”

“Earlier, while you were out at work.”

The lump that formed in Jonghyun’s throat wouldn’t budge. He couldn’t get the words out. And to make matters worse, his eyes were starting to get hot with tears.

He was saved from talking, from making any form of response when Jinki continued in, if it was possible, a more somber tone.  “I’ll stay there for two years. And I don’t want you to wait.”

*
*

If Jinki was already back in the country, he didn’t hear about it. There’d been no news of Jinki since six years ago. Having broken up, Jinki didn’t have any responsibility keeping him posted with his life. So there were neither phone calls, text messages, nor emails, not even holiday post cards. And as far as he knew, none of Jinki’s other friends received anything.

At times, when he let his thoughts drift to Jinki, he’d consciously steer away from thoughts of Jinki’s lifeless body, dumped unsympathetically in an obscure alleyway.

Fiercely, he’d imagine Jinki, buried nose-deep under mountains of books and papers, only looking up from his messy table when the library started to close. The Jinki in his imagination would go straight home and study some more until he passed out; he wouldn’t have time to eat lavishly or sleep soundly or send a goddamn email. And while that picture wasn’t entirely healthy, it was an improvement from seeing him dead, and would still adequately explain why no one was getting news of Lee Jinki.

But that was four years ago. Jinki was due to be back four years ago.

Nowadays, he couldn’t be so sure his little daydream was anything more than just that—a daydream. When Jinki’s supposed two years stay was up, Jonghyun, despite not being anything more than a friend to Jinki, went to London to search for him. But no one had ever heard of him, even after checking with the right authorities.

This now was ten years after high school, and it was the night of their homecoming.

For the first time in ten years, Jonghyun was stepping through the gates of his high school. When he’d imagined this moment a lifetime ago, Jinki was in the picture, standing beside him, looking charming and smart in black suit. A striking contrast to his pristine white.

As it was, there was no Jinki by his side for six years and counting. And Jonghyun didn’t wear white; his mind and his soul didn’t feel so white nowadays.

After his fruitless trip to London, he did a good job at keeping memories of Jinki tightly locked in the deepest recesses of his mind. But with the arrival of the invitation to the high school reunion, he knew old wounds were bound to be reopened.

Sure enough, as soon as this particular nosy former classmate recalled his name,—“Oh right! Kim Jonghyun, isn’t it?”—he was already on his case. “I remember you dating Jinki back then. What happened?”

If only the guy whose name he couldn’t be bothered remembering now looked less curious and concerned, he’d kick him in the nuts. But Jonghyun only smiled and said simply, “That was a long time ago. I’ve moved on since.”

“So, are you married? Dating anyone now?”

Really this guy. If Jonghyun didn’t know better, he’d think the other was hitting on him, but this particular pimple was the bully that claimed to be straight as an arrow to anyone who couldn’t care less. (But hey, a lot could happen in ten years. Like realizing his bullying was actually a mechanism to cover-up his shame at being homoual himself.  One could even lose the love their life before they even got to ten years. You just never know.)

With a hastily put escape plan in mind, he replied a short negative for both questions, and excused himself to the men’s room before another question is asked.

Throughout the night, Jonghyun wandered among the crowd, going from group to group, mostly against his will. He’d been the social butterfly in high school—Jinki the unattainable flower (fortunately for Jonghyun, Jinki wasn’t so unattainable)—so a lot of people recognized him and were genuinely curious of what the resident bad-boy was up to now.

Following (High School Bully) Nosy Classmate Number One’s lead, many asked if their former student council president was still keeping him straight (even Jonghyun laughed at the pun). But for people to inquire about Jinki from him, he finally became conscious of how inseparable they must have appeared throughout high school.

While the thought that they’d been a couple everyone knew and talked about warmed him a little like a fond memory, people just had to keep hitting where it hurt the most, didn’t they? So Jonghyun currently exploited the numbing effects of alcohol to soothe the ache. The more it hurt, the more alcohol he downed.

He realized he’d had a little too many glasses of wine when he thought he saw Jinki, very much alive, across the field, with a lady hanging off his arm

 Jonghyun knew the girl. She made blatant alterations—improvements, in her words—to her school uniform, and was often called to detention at the same time Jonghyun was serving his. They’d become friends after meeting so often after school for punishment.

But why would she and Jinki be together?

Not thinking straight and clearly led by his emotions, he stalked after them. Neither noticed Jonghyun as they walked to a more secluded part of the grounds, keeping up a steady, quiet conversation between them. They appeared to be in a world of their own, apart from the crowd that they pointedly ignored and ignored them in return.

And when Jinki leaned down to whisper something in her ear, Jonghyun unconsciously yelped, and their world abruptly swelled to include him.

They both spun around to look at their world-trespasser.

“Kim Jonghyun!” She beamed at the recognition.

“Hey,” But Jonghyun was looking at Jinki. Or the person that looked like Jinki. Because up close he found something very wrong with the face.

For one, the eye color was different. It was smoky gray, and while it could be colored contacts, Jonghyun wasn’t sure Jinki was up for gray or contacts. Furthermore, this Jinki-lookalike’s kohl-lined eyes were feline and curved up instead of Jinki’s down that disappeared to crescents whenever he smiled. In fact, this one didn’t look like he smiled a lot. His face was too smooth and all oblique angles that seemed to cut if pinched. And Jonghyun had squeezed and held Jinki’s face many times to know it was safe to touch.

Most importantly, it unnerved Jonghyun that the Jinki-lookalike was looking straight at him, eyes unwavering, like he intended to burn or kill with his stare. It said GO AWAY with bold letters. But it had nothing on Jinki’s warm and inviting eyes.

 Everything became clear when they were finally introduced.

“Jonghyun, this is Kim Kibum, my date.

Kibum, this is Kim Jonghyun. We used to spend detention together.”

Jinki-lookalike—no, Kim Kibum laughed. It was a loud, booming laugh as if he’d never heard anything funnier in his life.

 “I didn’t know you did detention in high school.” Kibum answered, docking his head to subtly wipe the tears in his eyes. Jonghyun couldn’t see what was so hilarious about detention.

She grinned mischievously at Kibum when he’d finally straightened himself. “Do you really think that? Because I don’t think I’ve changed much from high school.”

And as if he’d forgotten they were introduced, Kibum turned his back on Jonghyun. Soon, he was walking away, dragging her along by her hand, conversing with her like they’d never been interrupted.

Although he was miffed at how he was unremarkably ignored, Jonghyun knew where he wasn’t welcomed. It was his fault for tailing and intruding on them in the first place. He wouldn’t insist on making the other two accommodate him despite with his burning curiosity for Kim Kibum.

He his heel and marched the other way.

But unbeknownst to Jonghyun, he wasn’t unwelcome. In fact, if he had lingered longer, he’d have seen the way the two immediately ceased their conversation, and glanced back at him. And the man called Kibum had started going after him if only the girl’s hand on his elbow, and the slight shake of her head, didn’t keep him in place.

*
*

Six months later, he met Choi Minho in a random English pub. He’d been sitting in the bar, busy watching the soccer match at an overhead screen while intermittently nursing his drink.

For the first time in years, he was on long vacation. He’d practically been forced into one by the company he worked for since graduating from university, and he spent it abroad in London. He’d like to pretend there’d been no particular reason behind this choice, but he couldn’t keep deluding himself.

When the barkeep arrived with more of his order, he was startled to find the previously empty stool beside him occupied by a man with the biggest smile he’d ever met. And the smile was directed in his direction, which baffled him even more.

 “I’m Choi Minho.” The other man said. It was the most peculiar thing to say when Jonghyun couldn’t remember asking for his name. Usually, in his experience, people began with smooth—or lame—pick-up lines.

But the confidence in this one didn’t hurt. He supposed the man drew the assurance from being handsome. In the crowd, Jonghyun would even walk up to anyone with a face like that. A face of someone familiar, of someone he’d been once close to…

He almost blurt out, “Are you sure?” Was this a game? Was he pulling my leg? Because it wasn’t remotely funny.

The man didn’t look like a Choi Minho who, in his mind’s eye, would be someone taller, leggy, athletic, but disarmingly affectionate. The -eating grin was spot-on though.

This one, this face, this build—it looked almost like a Lee Jinki, his Lee Jinki.

But the smiley person before him looked most sincere, Jonghyun didn’t have it in him to doubt. He was starting to believe the myth that there were seven people in this world who looked uncannily like each other.  This man was possibly Jinki’s second twin. Would he meet all his seven twins in this lifetime?

Jonghyun tried to hide his hesitation, and amicably introduced himself instead. “My name’s Kim Jonghyun. Nice to meet you, Mr. Choi Minho.”

“So Jonghyun-hyung, how long will you be staying here?”

Jonghyun was torn between leaving this place and answering the stranger’s—Choi Minho; still a stranger—question.  It was dead creepy, but Jonghyun liked to keep his faith in humanity.

“A month.”

Soon, they were talking like old friends reunited, thanks in part to Jonghyun’s forthcoming ways even when he was sometimes disturbed, and to the ever-present twinkle in Minho’s eyes. And the fact that Minho was like a Jinki-incarnate spurned him on.

He went home with Minho that night. And stayed in Minho’s place every night until he had to depart.

In their month together, Jonghyun confirmed he wasn’t going insane and there was no truth to the seven lookalikes myth.

Despite Minho—and Kim Kibum before him—having been drilled ruthlessly to cast away habits for they might one day be exploited by the enemy, well, they die hard. And around Jonghyun, Minho often slipped. Once, Jonghyun distinctly heard Minho call him by the pet name he created when they were in college.

“Jamong, baby, come back to bed.” Minho had whined, peeking over the thick of pile blankets he usually kept over his head.

His touches were familiar, and were telling of Minho’s exhaustive knowledge of Jonghyun’s pleasure spots. And he knew just how deeply and insistently to kiss Jonghyun depending on the latter’s mood. Just how warm he liked his bath water. How many teaspoonfuls of sugar he enjoyed with his coffee.

He didn’t call Jonghyun hyung anymore, despite him being “officially” younger.

There was no mistaking it.

Not when Jonghyun could correctly guess which music Minho would play while Jonghyun drove. Not when Jonghyun could make Minho laugh even when he clearly knew his joke was dumb and silly. And especially not when Minho would sometimes respond to the name Jinki.

Even though the State was paying for and practically owned Jinki’s life and soul, Jonghyun was still in full possession of his so he would love them enough when Jinki was in no position to.

When Jonghyun left, he didn’t promise to return to Minho.  But Jinki promised to return to him.

*
*

“So who are you supposed to be this time?”

Jonghyun was riding the bus home from work (he was too sleepy to drive; being Managing Director was a pretty title, but in reality such hard work) when he spotted a familiar face walking down the aisle in his direction. The fatigue immediately left his body and he unconsciously made room for the newcomer, scooting over close to the window. The stranger took the space beside him as if the very seat was made for just for him.

“My name is Lee Taemin. And I’m supposed to be three years younger than you, Jonghyun-hyung.” Taemin flashed him an encouraging grin.

Out of all Jinki’s cover personas, Taemin stayed with Jonghyun the longest. The younger boy (Jonghyun still couldn’t wrap his head on the younger part—Minho after all dropped all pretense once they got out of the bar) was quiet and cold at times, unlike Jinki who had always tried to be accommodating. Most of the time, he zoned out, living inside his head, contemplating things Jonghyun could only guess at.

But when Jonghyun managed to get him out of his reverie, he’d look up at him with a grateful smile and would proceed to be the sweetest boyfriend ever. Or as sweet as Jinki had been.

Once, when Jonghyun came down with a bad cold that required him to stay in bed the entire day, Taemin made him a bowl of gruel that tasted awful even to his nonfunctioning tastebuds. After Jonghyun had successfully pushed down half of the bowl’s contents, compounding each spoonful with the large gulps of water, Taemin tried his concoction. He was scandalized he’d put his hyung through the suffering, and almost bent over backwards asking for Jonghyun’s forgiveness.

 But in his half-dying state, Jonghyun only felt endless gratitude, and his heart only swelled for the boy.

Taemin loved like Jinki did—clumsily but unreservedly.

For two solid years and five months, Jonghyun showered in the constant affection before Taemin (Jinki) left (again), vanishing furtively in the middle of the night. In the morning, when Jonghyun woke up from a drugged-like seep, his body and arms were curled around a pillow instead of Taemin’s warm body.

It was as if Taemin never existed.

In reality, he didn’t.

*
*

Jonghyun’s friends were throwing a birthday party for him in a few hours. Jonghyun was already thirty-five, but he hadn’t dated seriously since Taemin.

But he’d been engaged once. His parents, eager for grandchildren, had set him up with a friend’s daughter, and the two of them surprisingly hit off in their first meeting. She was enticing, and oozing with femininity just like how Jonghyun imagined his future wife would have been way before he got involved with Jinki. Jonghyun loved her and delighted in her company.

And since it wasn’t a secret to them that their parents got them together with marriage in mind, Jonghyun had immediately proposed after going out a couple of times.

It seemed logical at that time, and she said yes and there was no turning back.

Jonghyun sincerely thought he was ready for this—his parents were excited, his fiancée as well, and he wasn’t unhappy himself. He’d already primed himself to a pleasant, low-key married life with her.

Except that wasn’t the end of the story. Three months into their engagement, they were out buying groceries in a nearby supermarket, stacking up for a weekend getaway in one of her parents’ villas. With an amused laugh, she was embellishing a litany about the advantages of using BrandX over BrandY of cheese when Jonghyun caught sight of someone who was a dead-ringer for Jinki.

The specter was moving noiselessly between the Dairy Products and Local Treats aisles with head bowed, deeply contemplating the contents of his pushcart.

If there was anything in life he learned when dealing with his past lover, it was that lookalikes were in fact the real thing.

But Jonghyun stayed firmly rooted on the spot, unsure if he was willing to pursue Jinki again and stand by the whirlwind of a life he led, littered with breaking hearts he leaves in his wake. It took him the entire weekend out on the countryside with his then-fiancée to mull over how he actually craved Jinki’s way of keeping him on his toes, always on the lookout for when he would next appear. In fact, he preferred it to the quiet humdrum of a life he’d been given a preview of that weekend.

If there was another thing in life learned when dealing with his past lover, it was that he could not truly resist the lure of Lee Jinki.

 Jinki by any other name, would smell just as sweet?—he had to laugh at the cliché. But truly, Jinki (or Kibum or Minho or Taemin, or whatever other name he’d choose next) is the one.

As soon as he realized this—“What was I thinking, proposing half-heartedly?”—and had beat himself many times over his own naiveté and stupidity, he promptly broke of his engagement with her, much to the dismay of their parents. (Surprisingly, she understood, and even helped him break the news to their parents. Bless her soul.)

Jonghyun was checking himself out in the mirror, getting ready for the party his friends, directed by his former fiancée—new best friend, the result of peaceful cohabitation for three months—organized for his benefit, when his doorbell rang.

“Coming!” He called, and padded his way through to the front door still barefoot. Thinking it was one of his close friends, he casually threw the door open.

“Jinki?”

He tried not to look overwhelmed, but with the emotions that burst in his chest—the immense combination of extremes—he was failing to do so. The sight he was met with, he’d imagined this countless of times since Jinki left.

The only difference was the Jinki nodding, and smiling before him looked hazy through his gathering tears, but the voice rang through his empty apartment loud and clear.

“I’m home.”

*
*

AN: Was it too confusing?