With lengthy legs that threaten to give way, the brown-haired male could not refrain from groaning at it all. Jung Daehyun, an orphan inadvertently slaved to one of the many Jung institutions — to which he believed to be malevolent in nature — is trying extremely hard to free himself from this captivity. Various methods have often failed, and though this incredulous attempt might end up fruitless as well, it is this attempt that he is purposefully trying to take despite the rejection from every fibre of his body. While rumours are frequently proven to be spurious, it is a source of information that he considers, whether it is weak or not. Some information, in his opinion, is better than none and the trait of his constant contemplativeness would certainly serve him well.

 

It is this rumour that ignites a spark of blaring hope in his weathered heart — it is said that an individual from one of the numerous institutions had successfully stripped his former identity and fled to a place of renewed safety. The pathway is one exceedingly preposterous indeed for it involves one of the major highways that is perpetually busy. Albeit the numerous transportations that travel, its traffic flow is eerily smooth and undeterred. Why, it is said that the runaway had done what is deemed to be the greatest feat of a desperate soul. He, or she — the obstinate Jung boy is certain that the amazing person is a he — had sprinted across the crazy highway and survived, moreover escaping to a place of eternal respite, away from the governmental bodies that scoured for the individual. Then again, it is but an unproven gossip, but it is definitely sufficient in driving the jacketed boy into such perilous matters.

 

Braving the onslaught of roaring vehicles is one thing, but the other thing that strikes fear in the crevice of his essential core is its devastating height, and its reason for being utterly famous. It is a road mainly made out of thick, durable glass, permitting users to witness their levitating state that measures beyond ten storeys high. If he considers looking at the situation properly, the twenty year old supposes that it might even be fifteen. However, it is not a detail he wishes to scrutinize and it surely vexed as he intends to embark on this ominous journey. Plus, a gut feeling points out that it is possible that perhaps the runaway died after vanishing, so it is enough to create shudders running up his spine. Wetting the corner of his mouth with the tongue, Daehyun blinks erratically, clutching at his medium-sized backpack much tighter than he would like to. It is now or never, now isn’t it? For the countdown to his twenty-first birthday looms closer and wails sibilantly, drawing him to its clutches to a lifetime of incarceration.

 

Under his breath during this bright morning, he gives a fragile cheer of encouragement before running across the glass highway, screaming bloody murder as the feet journeys on this mad conquest. To think that he is to face his fear in such a death-defying manner— He could not even begin to fathom. In spite of running with his untradeable jacket equipped, Daehyun feels the chills cutting his bones. Though he first sought to be inconspicuous, such notions could no longer be considered as extreme terror became his bloodline. Merely a quarter across the highway, he feels absolutely frantic. “What if I don’t make it,” is one of the many thoughts scampering through his dark mind.

 

The stepping on soft ground causes the dilation of his eyes. Disbelievingly, the male looks up and realizes that he had survived the torrent of vehicles that nearly took his life away. It is guaranteed that it would have been quite the news, but in the end, it is he who is in the wrong. To challenge a place like this is just grossly wrong. Grinning from ear to ear, Jung Daehyun laughs euphorically. “I can’t believe it,” mumbles the twenty year old. “I actually made it! Perhaps, perhaps, maybe, I just, maybe I can—“ His joy is short-lived as an uncouth, rough rush nearly crumbles his state of balance. Glancing in the supposed direction immediately, his medium-sized backpack sits lopsidedly in a forlorn manner on the ground, some of its contents spilled. In his excitement, the boy had been barely off the highway. A white lorry had sped and missed him by a bare strand, ripping his baggage from his back impossibly. His heart deflates as the one emerging from the driver’s seat to apologize turns out to be someone linked to the Jung institution project. A single remark ensues.

 

“This is just not my day.”

 

A whole section of uninterrupted laughter continues until a sharp, curt growl is emanated. “Stop it, Yoo Youngjae,” warns Daehyun with a cold glare. Though its merry ring prolongs, it eventually abates to a soft cadence. With crinkled eyes, the seamed cap boy’s delight is undiluted. “You must admit that the thought of you running across the highway is extremely hilarious,” is what he chooses to remark, indicating their topic of conversation regarding the early morning. The twenty year old stirs his cup of coffee moodily, mumbling a short, “You promised me that you wouldn’t laugh,” before taking a sip. A warm-hearted punch greets the solemn figure, earning the doer an unexpected expression of indignation.

 

“Loosen up a little,” suggests Youngjae with a smile, glancing at his own cup of hot tea momentarily. “I mean, forgive me if I’m wrong, but being stuck in the institution might get a bit exasperating at times so I can almost understand why you did something outrageous, but what you did is the pinnacle of crazy comedy.” Of kind nature, the nineteen year old attempts to refrain from laughing again but the wide smile definitely give him away. Daehyun sighs, biting his tongue mildly to permit some leeway for his eccentric companion.

 

He and Youngjae met by chance about three months back on the busy street, in which his bought items were caught in a hapless fall. Perpetually compassionate, the seamed cap boy had offered a tea break as compensation, albeit not being the one at fault. Though the invitation was first begrudged, it was eventually accepted. They met a couple of times afterwards during his days of grocery shopping in town, and Yoo Youngjae was someone who actually trusted people — or at least him — very effortlessly. Saving the younger one’s number was risky, be it on paper or a card, because bad luck seems to follow the jacketed boy everywhere so they just decided on a meeting place; a rendezvous. They usually go for tea time treats if they choose to eat at all.

 

And so it astounds Jung Daehyun that upon arrival, Yoo Youngjae extends an invitation to his home. “I hope you don’t mind the size,” is what the nineteen year old had uttered before the walking of feet, inciting the other to believe in his humble claim. Once again, the serious brown-haired boy is amazed at its large structure. “Tell me again that you have no siblings,” Daehyun had murmured mindlessly, much to the amusement of the younger friend.

 

Now, here they are, drinking their respective beverages in the quiet atmosphere of the boy’s home. Thus, Daehyun doesn’t feel like he should be too unbearable lest the other takes offense. After all, although he didn’t want to admit it, he too is a monster of his own by taking advantage the seamed cap boy’s sprightly and open attitude. While it is known that he is part of the miserable institution, there is no way that Youngjae knows of his intent to one day escape the lifetime imprisonment by any means, save for murder and other extremities. It sickens him that the boy appears to suspect nothing, completely oblivious, only thinking of the jacketed one to be constantly curious about things unknown. He inquires of the schedules public schedules run by and other seemingly inconsequential details — when they are lethally important to him.

 

Being invited into this home actually gives Daehyun a tough time to breathe, each rhythm a suffocation to swallow and smile as it indirectly informs him that the home he sought after is so close yet so far. Oh, it is inevitable that from time to time, he is tempted to share his pitch-black woes and hopefully, with the schism of idiotic care in Youngjae’s heart, he may earn a place of belonging but no. It cannot be. It will not be so. Such risks are hardly commendable and mature. He should not permit fleeting emotions to be factors in decision making—

 

It is the subtle change in his surroundings that throws the Jung boy off-guard. With wide eyes, it is to his surprise and aberrant terror that he witnesses the entrance of Youngjae’s parents. He stands, knowing his place immediately, and it is with a swift, general bow does he execute in the delivery of the customary greeting. “Good evening,” a verbal expression made with a hidden quiver. The two figures accept his gesture and the subsequent one that is pronounced by his friend. Smilingly, they engage in idle chatter of how he came to be here in their house and other matters. Then, however, comes the part that causes the twenty year old to permanently hesitate.

 

“What’s your name, young man?”

 

His throat feels parched and destitute, dearth of moisture and everything required for perfect functioning. The boy wants to be rude, but he could not. There is no proper reasoning for that kind of terribleness albeit his logical fear and distrust. Asking for a name is only real, if not the usual proceeding of any colloquy. Therefore, clenching his hands into tight hardened fists, the jacketed boy mumbles softly. “Jung Daehyun,” he quietly utters. “That is me, truly.”

 

Lowering his gaze, partly due to shame, he feels the atmosphere growing dense and thick. How many times he had wished that he does not have this price tag to pay, but instead, have his original namesake but it cannot be so. The world is unfair, to some specifically. If only he isn’t one designed to be a bullied pawn in this stage of life. What if there is at least someone of authority who takes pity on him enough to do something? He did not find it in the eyes of the one who killed his parents at all, and him getting away alive is practically with a touch of magic. Nor did he witness such care in Mr Jung or the people working in the settlement and various districts for the ones with carved barcodes at the shivering nape. Surely there is no sufficient amount of kindness left in the world.

 

Then comes the question of Yoo Youngjae. Insatiably friendly, of that the older one could surmise, but just how much could he do? No, he is not enough. It is not a matter of greed or belittlement, but of proper reasoning. With eyes that blink with sudden clarity, the jacketed boy draws to a preposterous conclusion. What if his luck has finally arrived? Maybe his parents are the key to his getaway, if they resemble their son’s overly sociable demeanour and radiating innocence. The gentle vocalization of his name catches his paper-thin attention. “Daehyun…?” echoes Mrs Yoo, wearing a startled smile before passing it to her husband. Like mirrors, their reactions are exactly identical. A polite, attempted cough ensues.

 

“It’s good to see you here with Youngjae, Daehyun,” remarks Mr Yoo with a sheepish grin. “Don’t worry about the stigma. Hang around until you need to go back. I must say that you have a most interesting name.” Brief nods are exchanged once again between the two. “Ah, yes,” affirms the son blinkingly, idly poking at his cup of tepid tea. “Most interesting indeed.” With an unnoticeable unnatural exit to the curving stairs, their conversation continue for a little longer until Daehyun claims that it is best that he gets going.

An exaggerated frown is what he earns. “Already?” questions the beanie boy. “It’s only four o’clock in the evening.” Tongue-tied, Jung Daehyun stares at him. While it is true that he has a curfew to follow to the exact dot, he could still stick around. Even so, the want to break free from his impending doom is overwhelming and drowning him with herculean haste. Yet it is the look in the younger one’s eyes that causes him to sway. “… Almost,” adds Daehyun laconically, feeling quite stupid inwardly. It would not be wise to prioritize friendship in the long run, is the thought that reminds him sarcastically.

 

A short smile reaches the nineteen year old’s eyes in gentle gratitude. “Alright,” he mentions with a nod. “Go upstairs and enter the first room on your left while waiting for me to remove the drinks.” While protests arise, Youngjae cheerfully ignores them and shoos his friend to the aforementioned stairway, leaving the other significantly aghast. “How could  he,” groans Daehyun, noting that the seamed cap friend has been happy enough to pay for his share every single time they met since he could not spend Mr Jung’s money in such a suspicious manner. Knowing that the nineteen year old can be rather stubborn, the guest of the house obeys. Upon arrival, he is stunned at the vulnerability displayed.

 

“Jae’s room,” breathes Daehyun with silent alarm, for he merely expected some guest room or something. Not his own room, certainly. It is obvious, with the stream of metallic gadgets neatly placed on the table except for one that must be currently in recent use and his quirks embedded into it. His slight fancy for sky blue painted the walls and his bedcover a soft hue. Without realizing it, the twenty year old sits on the bed beside the random device on the bed, trying to check its battery life. “Silly guy,” chuckles Daehyun to himself as his finger prods the item, failing hopelessly at identifying its condition due to unfamiliarity. “Suppose it ran out of battery for nothing, he might have thrown a fit.” He surmises that it hasn’t been in use for a long time since it is icy-cold to the touch.

 

The device drops on the bed with a muffled thud when Daehyun senses someone by the doorway. By someone, of course, he defines it to be Yoo Youngjae. The older one blinks awkwardly, wondering how much the other heard of his personal notions. The beanie boy blinks once before smiling. “So the music player has piqued your interest?” is what he proposes with a quick, heart-warming laugh. “Well, well.” Unescorted by delay, he sits beside his friend with the device placed between them, inadvertently forming a comfortable distance. As Youngjae scrolls through the list on the screen, Daehyun nearly permits a frown. How is it that the other did not feel angered at the fact that someone technically touched his things? Wait, unless he actually trusts him that much? Holding him on a pedestal?

 

The answer to the question is not determined as the other passes him the left piece of a pair of earphones. Grasping it gingerly, his friend merely tells him to hook it for a little while on his right ear. Somehow noting it to be the younger one’s last suggestion of the day, he complies and watches as Youngjae mimics the action with the other piece. The jacketed male stares blankly at the beanie boy, who seems perfectly unaffected. At last, he selects a song and the lyrics appear on the screen.

 

It begins with a mellow tune, yet it astonishes Daehyun because it feels like a foreign experience. His eyes scan the wordings before him easily and absorb them with the ongoing music, finding it to be profound. Its simplicity made it seem deceptively poetic, yet with a tinge of enigma. All in all, a singing mystery is all he could somewhat conclude. Perhaps, just perhaps, having caught onto this rope of ambiguity is the main element for triggering his state of nonplus when Youngjae’s hand skims his cheek. First he tries to stutter something, anything — but since that did not work, he falls back, failing as well since the earphones keep them connected. If anything, it brings the other one a centimetre or two uncomfortably closer.

 

Daehyun struggles to look at his friend, especially after the weird action, but Youngjae seems indifferent. His apparent harassment lasts only for a few more ephemeral seconds as his hand retracts soundlessly. “Dust in your eyes,” comments the seamed cap boy edgily, looking away temporarily. Cautiously, he raises his hand to verify the other’s dubious-sounding claim. And he touches fresh tears. Goodness — he is utterly embarrassed. What is he doing? Crying at the first song already or something?

 

No. The churning feeling in his heart tells him otherwise. Somehow, something in the act of doing this simple sharing with Yoo Youngjae has reminded him of a memory so long ago. Might it be of his dead parents? “I’m sorry,” gasps Daehyun with a shaky laugh, burying his head involuntarily into his hands. “I didn’t mean to, I don’t even know why I started thinking weird things about what you did, and I can’t even begin to…” His voice, albeit initially muffled by the burial, is now soaked with sobs of unknown origin. Learning the presence of a memory forgotten proves to be a shortcut to his undoing. Remembering all the times of abuse and words of disparage — they weigh relentlessly on his worn shoulders until he breaks them. Or until they break him. The race of time made it seem like the burden is on the winning side.

 

As the tears continue to flow, by and by Daehyun chooses to wipe them away with the use of his sleeve’s jacket, not caring about the underlying sting upon contact. The speed of eradicating them increases at such an alarming rate that his eyes burn. During this time, Yoo Youngjae had decided to do nothing aside from breathing and watching. The songs continue, and his position never moved. Only when Jung Daehyun dares a side glance, the other murmurs a quiet, “Dust in your eyes,” before leaving his left hand around the jacketed one’s shoulder for a moment, the closest thing to a hug he has ever gotten in the past decade. And the one with an ill soul would speak of that instant to be one unparalleled.

 

“Excuse me, Jae,” groans Daehyun aloud. “What are you doing?” Laughter rings in his ears easily, accompanied by a light pat that reassures that he is not completely alone in this. Nevertheless, it did not suffice at all, even if it means that it is a prank that Yoo Youngjae has to sink with. For he is blindfolded, expected to cover a considerable amount of distance without prior knowledge of where he is to go. A low growl escapes him by accident, prompting the younger friend to answer. “Don’t worry,” replies the familiar voice. “There is no need to be doubtful of the destination I’m taking you to. Come along now.” With that, the seamed cap boy guides his friend along with minimal spurts of protest.

 

This blindfold incident eventuates about three weeks after that emotional situation, in which Daehyun is quite grateful for. Yoo Youngjae proves to be one who did not find the need to treat him like a fragile object upon witnessing his unravelled torment yet neither did he make fun of it. No, it remains like a shadowed notion dabbled with wise clarity and the older one feels like he really owes the Yoo boy for that. However, any kind thoughts regarding their growing relationship disappear temporarily as the other is persistent in making him walk in purposed blindness.

 

“Am I crossing the road?!” exclaims a partially-panicked Daehyun, resisting the urge to untie the blindfold that kept his vision at bay. After all, playing blind man had heightened his other senses and he has a hunch that in spite of the other’s undeniable innocence, he might have done the said deed without pressing the indicator that would ensure road safety. “Mmh, what a smart guy you are!” chuckles Youngjae effortlessly. “You’re not only looks, eh?” The tease is a definite insult because who in the world would not realize their predicament when the blaring honks threaten to deafen him? Plus, his feet could sense that the ground is no longer smooth and even like the grey pavements he often embark on to go to and fro to places.

 

“You will get us killed,” the blind one curses acrimoniously, and the only response he received is the helpful yet freakish push forward on his back, paired with the shriek of a vehicle. For the most part, thanks could be gifted since the event at the glass highway might have traumatized him on the spot. Minutes later, their feet draw to a steady halt, and an unfamiliar timbre articulates. “Why is this young man here blindfolded?” questions the authoritative figure — well, assumingly. A small pat on the shoulder greets the jacketed one, flinching due to its suddenness. “It’s a game,” laughs Youngjae helplessly. Frowning at the manner his friend is donning in response, he agrees when the authoritative figure states that games are for children. “Don’t worry, there won’t be any unmanageable mischief,” replies Youngjae smoothly, adopting a low tone. “Now, let us go. Good day to you, sir.” In a swift motion, Jung Daehyun bets that somehow a form of bribery is exchanged because no further questions ensue.

 

His feet are encouraged to walk onward for a little while longer until they draw to a terse halt. A shrill chime is heard. “Ah, better get going now,” muses the nineteen year old as his feet begin their usual pattern. Frowning once more, he decides to be disobedient. Finally, even.

 

“Jae,” is all the jacketed one says obstinately. Standing still, Daehyun knows that his act is strong enough to dominate the atmosphere, bringing it to a sombre hue. He could already imagine the weight of his friend’s disappointment shaking his very soul and the forlorn blink that breaks. “Just a bit more,” affirms Youngjae, and the Jung boy feels his body being heaved forward into a fixed compartment. Metal meets metal. Eyes widen behind the cloth as the twenty year old’s head grows light, his heart pounding erratically. His fists turn white with pressure and another source unknown. Certainly it cannot be what he thinks it to be. Surely it will not be coincidental enough to happen, right?

 

Due to a chaotic mindset, the boy proposes the sillier conclusion of the two options aloud. “Jae – you’re not taking me to some red-light destination right…?” mumbles Daehyun awkwardly, his cheeks turning rubescent. His fingers twiddle with the hemline of his jacket in an attempt to reduce his image as someone incredibly unfamiliar and inept in such fields. The outburst of unrestrained laughter burns his cheeks, making them feel like they are on fire. “Oh, Daehyun,” croons Youngjae in a smiling voice. “How hilarious. We aren’t even legal.” A poor scoff eventuates. “Then where are we…?” trails off the blindfolded one. There is no reply to that but the rhythmic tap of the foot on the surface, indicating that patience is key. As if he wants some blasted key like that.

 

Upon arrival, the chime returns with equal cacophony, if not worse. With that, it is common sense to step ahead as Yoo Youngjae guides him. Even so, a seemingly electric pulse travels through his veins as his feet touch the hollow surface. A mass of people that he senses to be everywhere around him doesn’t do much to settle his jittery state as well. If not now, when does his blindfold ever come off? Though Youngjae initially escorted him throughout this crazed journey, that kind of assistance vanishes, which incites his swallowed anger. No longer troubling himself with the topic pertaining to their friendship, he snaps at last, ripping the cloth away to unveil his vision. “Jae, how could you even—“ begins Daehyun strongly but it is nearly instantaneous that his feet crumbles beneath him.

 

 Heights. Dizzying heights that fracture his brain system. His ears feel like they are going to explode from the incessant throbbing of his stressed heart, face turning deathly pale at the sight of the vast world underneath him. For his worst fears had come to pass after all — and in fact, tuned to a meticulous detail. “You called?” answers Youngjae cheerfully, casually lying down on the surface across his friend’s crumpled state. Why, he has the cheek to reach out and poke him on the sleeve. Eyebrows furrow saliently at the one grinning, hands propped against the flooring. “How could you,” accuses Daehyun darkly. “You already know that I have a fear of heights right?”

 

Yoo Youngjae had brought him to the famous tower majorly pieced together with glass structures, and they are on its thirtieth floor. On paper, it is a mere construction project but now, it is a popular tourist attraction. Those who dare to challenge its amazing yet dangerous scenery of the world beneath their feet would enjoy paying the small fee. The number of people above is monitored for the sake of safety. As long as the limit is obeyed, running and jumping is permitted on this type of transparent surface. Truth be told, the other floors have sensible glass box viewing compartments, only jutting out at the sides of the building. However, most unluckily for the acrophobic one, the seamed cap boy had chosen to take him to the most terrible floor possible since every single tile is see-through. It didn’t help that they are on the very edge either.

 

The unchanging, peaceable smile on his face tempts Daehyun to punch his friend. All that trouble for this? Really? “Come on, don’t you fear something too?” persists the twenty year old resentfully. A small laugh escapes the younger one as he looks at the world below. “We share the same fear,” comments Youngjae, spontaneously getting excited at the semblance of a flying creature. He stops himself short of an expletive. His tongue need not any more unrequired taints. “… Seriously,” is all he quietly utters, dejected.

 

Yoo Youngjae’s bright eyes fall unexpectedly dim. “You,” he replies, and his face remains taut for a noticeable amount of time. The beanie falls over his head accidentally during that passage of severity, inducing a rich laugh to explode. “Well, well,” adds the boy after fixing the seamed cap over his head properly, the voice regaining its former vigour. “Looks like we’re up for a chase!” Immediacy is Youngjae’s to wield as he stands to his feet undaunted, causing the need for the slumped one to crane his neck upward. With a victory sign, the nineteen year old casually distances himself from his friend, purchasing a probable fifteen feet apart.

 

“Absolute idiot—“ half-screams Jung Daehyun, forcing himself to get up to his feet. His hand grabs the side railing for support, but it unnerves him as well due to its glass property. Meanwhile, the smile lengthens. “I’m sorry?” laughs Youngjae with crinkled eyes. “I didn’t quite catch that.” An inhumane snarl escapes the older one, not caring about the strange looks the other people are giving him.

 

“Stay. Right. There.” That is the only statement Jung Daehyun intends to enforce. Judging by the other’s mild blink, it is apparent that it will take effect. Though a mere fifteen to eighteen feet separates them, it could have been the wide stretch of a gushing stream. Facing his fear at such a mismatched manner is indeed psychotic. Taking a medium step forward at a time, he grits his teeth to keep his nerves in check. “Just ten more,” he chides himself. “You are more than this.” Slowly but surely, the feet draw nigh as the pressure within builds painfully. He is definitely going to get back at Yoo Youngjae for this. Most definitely. Give him the punch he deserves for being such a prankster.

 

 His vision begins to blur, a sign that his fears are eating him whole, but he would not permit it just yet. Six more steps. Five. Four. He will not allow himself to be ruined like this. “Jae,” says Daehyun with a wavering voice, as they are merely three feet apart. “Get ready.” With eyes that drooped imperceptibly, the younger one readies himself. Taking a huge step, Daehyun’s fist lunges forward at a sublime speed that falters alarmingly, never reaching its intended spot. Instead, the Jung boy finds himself being held up by the other’s arms rather stiffly. It appears as though his legs had decided to malfunction for the time being.

 

“You did well for a first,” the seamed cap boy points out. “Your method of using emotions is quite dangerous, but admirable, in any case.” There is no reply but the dead weight prolongs stubbornly. Unbeknownst to the Jung boy, Youngjae decides to blow lightly against the other’s strained forehead, making his brown locks of hair stray loose. “One less fear to hold your heart captive now,” hums the nineteen year old. The jacketed boy’s sigh colours the air. How could he have thought so badly of the other when his intentions are spectacularly golden? Jung Daehyun could have chosen to be sincere and allow tears to wet his eyes, but no. Instead, he opts for a gruff expression of thanks and weakly — although he would not admit it — pushes the beanie off his friend’s head.

 

A chuckle compliments the nineteen year old’s curving lips. “You better buy me a new one soon if you’re going to do that all the time,” is all he says. Having no preference for engaging the other in idle chatter, it worsens the nightmarish prospect that is stringing itself together in his mind’s eye.

 

Jung Daehyun is only using Yoo Youngjae for his own plans, and once he escapes, it is likely that their relationship will be severed. The unhappy thought is shaken away as he picks himself up from the other’s arms of support, and a childish blink is all the other gets as a prize.

 

At least twelve days have passed before Jung Daehyun is directed to get some groceries and some miscellaneous items once again. Before exiting though, Mr Jung looks at him strongly in the eye and beckons the young adult to follow him. Keeping a passive face, he obeys. How could he not? Once they are out of sight from the other orphans, Mr Jung turns around and takes a deep breath. “… See that you don’t get yourself killed,” he verbalizes crisply. The twenty year old waits for something more, be it words or a mistreatment, but surprisingly, there is nothing else attached to that fair yet morbid warning. Thanking the man, the puzzled boy exits the institution and carries out the duties. Carrying the load of objects and awkwardly using his good looks to deceive older women into managing dealings with him, it is no wonder that he is exhausted upon meeting Youngjae, who greets him enthusiastically.

 

“The girls can’t get enough of you, huh?” teases the nineteen year old who points at the other’s faintly marked cheek, to which Daehyun hastily rubs it off with the back of his hand. His eyes narrow at the other solemnly. “Don’t judge,” warns the Jung boy, and the Yoo boy sagaciously backs off on that topic. The beanie boy confirms their rendezvous of the moment, taking one of the spots closer to the end of the restaurant. The want for attention is hardly there since the discrimination is ever-present, truly. After ordering their warm drinks, the atmosphere gains significant weight.

 

“What’s going on in your place, Daehyun?” asks Youngjae in a stage whisper, yet with absolute precision. That question catches him off-guard. Blinking quickly, his confusion is made clear by the query. “I see your bruises and scars,” continues the beanie boy slowly. “You cannot hide them, try as you might.”

 

“And what does it have to do with you?” snaps Daehyun tersely, astonishing himself with that burst of bitterness. He realizes that in spite of the other’s apparent goodwill, he is not willing to uncover himself at all. To remain unprotected is ludicrous. Plus, there is an ache that tells him that he doesn’t want the other to be hurt unless necessary — and having the other meddling in his personal issues is like driving an involuntary stake into his side. Youngjae scratches his nape thoughtfully.

 

“It does,” quips the nineteen year old. “I know you. The you who stays at the institution which is completely symmetrical save for the right portion that has a stairs spiralling upwards and the left portion which has a longer hallway — the way your right foot plays a bigger part in your balance — how you are the most restricted Jung I’ve ever seen — the unnatural crook in your smile.” A few more details are rattled out, and Jung Daehyun’s face emulates the quality of pallor. This sunshine friend of his has been watching him closely like a shadow, almost like an obsessed freak for waiting at their meeting spot everyday in the case that the other might appear. Their appointments are never fixed, after all, and his face turns grim at that particular revelation.

 

Their precarious state of conduct is temporarily interrupted by the arrival of their drinks, clothed by smooth porcelain mugs. After the both of them thank the waitress, her absence continues their heavy topic of discussion. “I have important things to tell you,” whispers Yoo Youngjae, and Jung Daehyun feels compelled to comply. It is ridiculous. Neatly taking out his electronic device, he types ‘fingerprint identification’ and uses a search engine. A deluge of information materializes, but the nineteen year old chooses the first one from the top. It takes him an official page in which one could press one’s thumb against the surface and have the information transferred. The government believes in transparency, thus the website exists, but the twenty year old is doubtful of their actual motive.

 

“Press your thumb against it,” says Youngjae unblinkingly. Frowning hard all the way, Daehyun does so. Once it reads his print, his case file appears, and it lists his name, birthday and all the other details required. The twenty year old finds himself considerably impressed at the advancement of technology over the past few years. Motionlessly, Youngjae presses his against the screen and Daehyun’s abrupt curse springs to life at the sight he chanced to see. Although its incipient appearance shows Yoo Youngjae’s details, forcing the system with complicated commands causes the information to dissolve — presenting the other’s record to be an exact replica of Daehyun’s. Dark eyes flicker to the other pair, and it blinks thrice. “Remember me?” questions the Yoo boy hauntingly.

 

Jung Daehyun is overcome by a boxful of memories that is unlocked by that statement, something that probably served as a trigger. He recalls a person about his age occupying the room at the furthermost end of the left hallway, a discovery that is by a definite accident. He just believes strongly that they must have been friends or something, because though their interactions seem forbidden, they pull through difficulties. There is certainly something to do with electronic devices and the shaking of hands — or is there? Mr Jung’s intimidating expression is dominant over all.

 

“You?” exclaims Daehyun incredulously. With a scimitar-like gaze, the beanie boy explains of a few vital points. “I am that same boy,” he confirms quietly. “Having befriended all that eventually left, I was given a room before I became fatally heartsick. I am not permitted to interact with any other lest my condition worsened, but then you, Daehyun, appeared before me by a total accident. I’m sure you got a terrible scolding after that. It was an enforced rule, after all.”

 

A short dry laugh expresses. “You’ve forgotten, but we became friends,” says Youngjae bleakly. “We did. It’s been at least ten years then, so I don’t blame you for not remembering me.” Troubled, Daehyun contemplates on the current situation at hand. Something weird about this whole thing unsettles him. “Why do we have the same record…?” inquires the twenty year old dubiously. “How did you leave…?”

 

“Your two queries are connected,” mentions the nineteen year old seriously. “Now, listen closely.” Youngjae admits with open honesty that he never expected to cross paths with him again, let alone rekindle their past. Then he speaks of ten year old Daehyun’s excitement at the big possibility of getting adopted, since a couple had taken a deep interest in him. The nine year old him was infinitely displeased, noticing a certain trend in the friends he had. And then comes this.

 

“You were my faithful messenger,” claims Youngjae with bright eyes. “Doing whatever I said, probably due to your happiness. And little did you know… you fell into the perfect trap.” Briefly explaining his confinement period to be the reason how he turns out to be intellectually gifted with electronic devices, Daehyun discovers the multiple crevices of deception that binds him to the life he now leads. Amongst these were the extraction of his fingerprints with the use of gloves, the retrieval of a softcopy document that is tampered with and his role as a perpetual scapegoat.

 

Jung Daehyun remembers shaking hands with the gloved one who claimed to be sick, fetching items because apparently they were misplaced and taking rebukes without much thought. It sickens him that he was that easy to be played with at such a tender age. “That day you were supposed to be adopted, I concocted the biggest trick of the century,” says Youngjae with a devilish smile. “I managed to lead you astray, pretending to be you in front of the surrogate parents and in my records — I am dead. I have been dead for the past ten years.” It’s a cold and brilliant plan, of that the Jung boy realizes with sharp clarity. Assuming his role as Jung Daehyun, earning a spot in the family — adjusting records at will without leaving a prominent trace, the boy is certainly smart. And cruel.

 

“How did you get away without the barcode?” snaps Daehyun with a steel glare. Youngjae takes a sip of his beverage before answering. “Who says I didn’t?” echoes the nineteen year old blankly, shamelessly turning around and revealing the scarred mess at his nape that he uncovers for the first time beneath his hair. The twenty year old’s fists whiten. The tongue loosens. A power that directs subtly. “How could you,” blames Daehyun morosely. “You decided to take away my opportunity out of jealousy ten years ago. No more than one barcoded orphan under the Jung institution can be adopted by the same bloodline, so you chose to do that when you didn’t need to? When you are his son?”

 

“I needed to do something of my own for once,” answers Youngjae calmly. “But I would say that I never meant for it to turn out this way. And having found you, I wish to make up for it.” Daehyun could hardly believe his ears. Finally, oh so finally, the boy discovers the reason for being singled out by the caretaker as the man must have been convinced that he was the cause of the child’s demise. No wonder he became so twisted. They were good friends; after all, a friendship frowned upon. And he thought that he is using the beanie boy for dark purposes. Looks like the tables have never changed at all.

 

He blinks contemplatively, recalling his damaged profile because of this horrid incident that occurred years ago. His future imprisonment due to the genius yet selfish act of a boy so young — a person he called his friend; disgustingly having opened his emotions to the very same person that stabbed him in the back. “Daehyun?” asks Youngjae with a seemingly genuine look of concern, paired with the imperceptible tilt of the head.

 

The memory of what transpired on the glass highway a month or two ago influences his current trail of thoughts. Mr Jung, who screamed over and over in that soundproof room, having hit the sullen twenty year old with a leather belt about his foolish stupidity. “Why did you do that?” yelled the man. “Did you want to die?” The rambling had continued, but one thing struck him as poignant regarding the horrible episode. Despite the blood streaming down his bruised body, it was the tears he remembered clearly, along with the last words the man happened to articulate. “Don’t you know that someone died because of that…?”

 

 The penultimate puzzle piece falls into place with a tiny click sound in the back of his mind. Snowflake’s innocent pondering, Mr Jung’s demonic treatment towards him and the amount of trust loaned to him by Yoo Youngjae — preposterous. He has been a scapegoat for a confounded period of time now. Jung Daehyun looks at the seamed cap boy in front of him, remembering the words and the father’s bereft expression regarding the son he lost, the two bits an odd mix. The son that is beyond well, surpassing the caretaker’s knowledge. The loss of his own individuality due to another’s designated mischief.

 

Gently lifting the lukewarm beverage for a slow sip, Jung Daehyun slams the porcelain mug on the table afterwards in response to the other’s offer of reconciliation. “To hell with you, Yoo,” curses the twenty year old, and the shattered pieces make it crystal clear that their tie of friendship is beyond imaginable repair.

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Because surely, oh so very surely, the minimal room permitted for human error amplifies its wrongness altogether.