This is not like in the movies. Or maybe it is, a bit, I’m not really sure anymore. The building stares back at me, gray, cold and uncomfortably big, making me stop in my footsteps, unsure I want to continue. I am anxious, horribly so, but as terrifying as the house looks, the place is not my biggest source of nervousness, but who’s on the inside. The freezing winter air eventually wins over my hesitation, forcing me to move forward.

Inside it is warm, not as gray, but somehow even more unfriendly.  The brown vinyl flooring squeaks underneath my shoes as I walk across the unnaturally clean and shiny surface. At the reception is only one woman, in her thirties, wearing a beige cardigan and black overly big glasses, staring at what seems to be an old and outdated computer.

“Hmm…” I clear my throat quietly, “Excuse me?”

“How may I help you?” the woman says in a rehearsed voice, staring at me rather uninterested.

“I-I’m here for a visit” I reply hesitantly, suddenly feeling ashamed.

“Your name is?”

“Lee Junho.”

“I also need your resident registry number?”

As I tell her, she enters the information into her computer, not once looking up at me. When she is finished, she continues with more questions.

“And what is the name of the inmate you wish to see?”

“Minjun… Kim Minjun” I respond awkwardly, the word ‘inmate’ making me freeze for a moment, but I guess it’s better than prisoner, or worse.

“What is your relationship with the inmate?”

“Relationship?” I ask, slightly blushing despite myself, wondering if she has an hour or two.

“Yes,” she stares at me through her black framed glass-less spectacles, with forced patience, offering an explanation as if I were a child: “Are you a relative of the inmate or…?”

Her impersonal approach, and the overuse of the word ‘inmate’ is starting to bother me, there is no reason why she can’t use his name. Still I hold back my temper, yelling at the reception girl is the last thing I need right now, what he needs.

“Uh no, we’re friends… just friends” I answer, although the words feels bitter in my mouth, like I’m downplaying what we are, whatever that is, belittling everything we’ve been through.

Again she starts to enter things into the computer, and it feels like she’s writing more than I said.

“Is this your first time at this institute?”

“Uh yes, yes of course…” I reply slightly offended, worried what kind of person she thinks I am, if I’m the kind of man that visits prisoners for some kind of a kick, or if I’m like one of these crazy women writing letters to murderers on death row, hoping to marry them.

The receptionist doesn’t care about my inner turmoil, but opens up a brochure in front of me, pointing to all the things I am not allowed to bring inside, encouraging me to read the information in more detail. As I stare at the rules, without really seeing them, she prints out the form, and places it in front of me.

“Have you read and understood the rules?” she asks in a monotone voice, and when I nod, she adds: “And you realize breaking anyone of them, is punishable by law?”

Again I nod, and she tells me to read over the form to ensure all the information is correct, and then points to the bottom of the paper, telling me to put my signature there, which I do. After putting her own signature and an official stamp, she hands me a copy of the form, and asks me to sit down in the waiting area.

For a long while, I wait. I’m early, I know I am, but since I didn’t have an idea how long this would take, I figured being early was better than being too late. Normally I don’t like waiting, but now it is a relief, feels better than having to face him right away. It has been four months since I last saw him. Four long months. Probably the longest we ever went without speaking to each other.

Honestly, I wasn’t really planning to talk to him ever again, not after he had done something so intolerably stupid. Obviously he doesn’t deserve my forgiveness, but even if he did, it is not in my place to forgive him, it was not me his crimes were against. So a part of me doesn’t even know why I am here, while another part knows exactly.

Last week his letter came, it didn’t say much, only what mattered, enough to make me come. ‘I miss you’ are powerful words to say to someone, especially if he feels the same way. Deep down inside, I know that the letter only hastened the inevitable. Before it came, I was starting to feel it, the loss of him in my bones, in my breath, I wasn’t going to resist seeing him much longer. I’m not good at being by myself and figuring everything out on my own, I never learned how.

Now I’m stuck in the twilight zone, missing him terribly, but not ready to see him yet. So I welcome the wait, revel in the luxury of not having to think about anything at all, or at least I try not to. Instead I let my eyes roam around the room, occasionally stopping on the rules and propaganda hanging on every free wall space, reminding me where I am. For a long while I focus on the walls themselves, stare at the mint green paint that is starting to get worn in the corner up against the ceiling, the green so faint it almost becomes beige. I wonder who would pick such a terribly ugly color, when a woman sits down beside me, looking extremely tired, holding a toddler in her lap.

Contrary to myself, she doesn’t look nervous or out of place, and it is clear she is a regular visitor. I assume the woman is visiting her husband, why else would she bring a kid to a place like this, and I feel sorry for her, because whatever he did, most likely she didn’t have anything to do with it. But still, this is no place to bring a child, and I don’t really understand how she can live her life like this.

The room now starts to fill up quickly, and before long a prison guard opens up the door asking us to enter. There are not even forty of us now, and I’m not sure why there are not more people. Perhaps, prisoners get different visitation time, or maybe most prisoners don’t get any visitors at all. I don’t know, and it doesn’t really matter.

In a line we walk inside. My phone and personal belongings are put in a plastic bag for storage once I have shown my identification. After I walk through a metal detector, I’m patted down, it’s not really intrusive but still makes me feel like I’ve done something wrong.

Not really sure what to expect, I walk through the door I’m pointed to, reaching a room filled with small square tables with chairs at each end. Like I’m being told to, I sit down at one of them in the back.

My stomach starts to misbehave, and my palms become sweaty, my heart hammering away in my chest. Still, I am not sure what to expect, not even sure I want to be here. The last minute of waiting feels endless, and I get more and more nervous with every torturously slow second that passes. My heart stops beating when the door opens up, and one by one the prisoners enter the room, each and every one of them big and mean looking, most with shaved heads and tattoos.

Then I see him, and at the exact moment, Minjun sees me too, smiles slightly and approaches. A big wave of relief washes over me, he seems healthy and alright. I didn’t even realize I was so worried until I see him again.  My eyes water up as he gets closer, and this time I am thankful for my small eyes, so with a smile I hide them. I drink in the sight of him. Even wearing this ugly, shapeless prison uniform, he still looks amazing, he was always able to pull off everything. For a moment, like so often before, I get lost in his face, the strong unique features I can never get enough of watching. Between the two of us, I was usually called the ‘pretty’ one, but Minjun has always been the true beauty.

“You came” he says simply, while sitting down opposite me.

First, I just nod, unable to say anything, but then awkwardly stutter up: “I thought orange was the standard color here.”

Quickly he looks down at his gray-blue clothes, cursing slightly and mutters: “Oh, I wish they were orange, instead of this crap.”

I smile, hyung has always liked flashy clothes and wacky colors.

But he has bigger problems at the moment.

“Are you OK?” Instantly I realize my question is stupid, how could he be alright, so I add: “I mean… Do you eat properly? Nobody is bothering you, right?”

“Oh, they try” he mutters back, never losing my gaze. Once he sees I’m genuinely worried, he adds with a soft voice: “I’m fine, I can take care of myself, kid.”

Like always, it slightly annoys me being called a kid, with only two years of age difference it’s unfair, and makes me feel like I’m not being taken seriously. But, like always, I know he doesn’t mean it like that, it’s merely a habit. I also know that he’s correct, ever since I met him twenty years ago as a six year old boy, he has always been able to take care of himself, and me.

For a long while we don’t say anything, the atmosphere between us uncomfortable. After four long months I am finally face to face with my closest friend, and for the first time in my life I have nothing to say to him. Or maybe there is too much to say, so I don’t know where to start or how to choose the correct words. Instead I just stare down at the table, watch his hands resting there, looking unfamiliarly bare, not loaded with accessories like usually. Hyung’s hands have always been beautiful, and I think I prefer them like this.

Since he doesn’t push the conversation, eventually I mutter, without looking up:

“You ed up big this time.”

“Thank you captain obvious.”

When I look up at him harshly, he mutters back,

“I know.” His eyes soften up, showing remorse.

“How is he?”

“I don’t know… the doctor says it’s unclear… probably he’ll live but…”

I bite my lip, a part of me doesn’t want to hear the details, I don’t want to face the reality of what happened, which makes me feel like a major scumbag. “Why did you guys have to bring a gun to that stupid robbery?” I say down to my chest, unable to conceal my anger.

“The guys insisted…”

“Don’t ing bull me” I snap back.

“It seemed like a good idea at the time…” he finally admits, his eyes full of remorse, pulling a string at my heart and annoying me at the same time. Why the did he always have to hang out with these morons, and why was he always so drawn to the forbidden?

“How long did you get?” I ask, staring down at the table, not ready to face him when I hear the answer.

“Six years.”

“Six years?” In total shock I look up at him, unable to hide my horror, though what did I expect?

“Hmm,” he replies shortly, not losing my gaze.

“That’s… a long time.”

“Yeah it is,” he sends me a faux smile, adding playfully: “You´ll probably have a wife and a kid by the time I finally get out.”

“Is that supposed to be funny?” It seems like he is determined to annoy me for some reason.

“Maybe not a wife… but someone…”

When I don’t respond he adds softly: “Will you wait for me?”

To tell the truth, sometimes I hate my hyung a little bit, and at times like these, a lot. A part of me wants to scream at him that my ‘waiting for’ and his are different, and that he has no right asking me this. Eventually I manage to stutter up:

“What the is that supposed to mean? It’s not like life just stops…”

 “I know…”

Minjun looks so sad, I get the urge to grab his hand, to tell him that everything will work out fine. But how am I supposed to know if it will? And I’m not even sure I’m allowed to touch him, I should have read that stupid brochure more carefully.

Finally he says: “But… Will there still be a place for me… in your life, when I’m out?”

As soon as he asks the question, the answer is obvious, and I feel my anger subsiding, and I simply nod. He must be in pretty bad shape to ask me that. Nobody knows better than him that I don’t know how to make life work without him, and now I realize I don’t want to, even though it’s all messed up, even though he ed up so bad this time, that he deserves the crappy situation he is in. I need him, and though maybe not in exactly the same way, he needs me too, and both of us know it. Like trees growing up together, we are not able to stand on our own, we never learned how.

As much as I don’t want to let go of him, occasionally, I do wish that I would need him less. Or that my feelings for him would be different, or that his would be closer to mine. Minjun doesn’t mind my preferences, he never did, not even when I first told him, though he never likes my boyfriends, but they never last anyways. Relationships are hard to manage when you are in love with someone else.

A few times, our relationship has gone further than the platonic. Each time Minjun is drunk, and usually on drugs too. Though I always know that this would not be happening if he was sober, I don’t care. It feels too good, his touch, his hands on me, his lips against mine, feeling him inside me. I want it too bad, need it too desperately, so I never care.

Afterwards, we never talk about it. It’s the one thing we don’t discuss. Although I want to, I never ask him if we could ever become something more. As much as our friends tease me for being blunt and speaking before I think, it turns out that when it’s about something really important, I’m a coward.  

Now, like so often before, is not the right moment for this discussion, so I save it for another time. But it feels like I should say something, like time is slipping away from us, so I blurt out the first thing I can think of:

“How is your mom?”

After a short silence, I get the answer: “I don’t know.”

 “She didn’t come?” I ask shocked, and he just shakes his head while muttering:

“No-one has come.”

I feel many things at once. First of all, a terrible sting for the pain his mother is going through, and guilt, because I was going to visit her but I didn’t. I am too afraid she’s angry at me, that she blames me for not being able to keep her son from executing his stupid schemes, I know I do. Also, I feel sorry for Minjun to the point that I can’t breathe. At the worst time of his life, everyone abandoned him, and he has been going through everything on his own, without anyone to confide in. But mostly I feel weak, because I can’t abandon him too, even though I know I should. After all, he is a criminal, did horrible things, caused so much pain, but still, I can’t stay away.

“But what have you been up to, Junho-yah?”

Surprised at the casual question I look back up at him, but quickly figure Minjun is trying to make the atmosphere lighter.

At first, I don’t feel like I have anything to say, but I start talking, and soon I can’t stop. I talk about work, complain about my annoying coworkers, talk about normal life, this new restaurant that I tried out, and a video game I just bought. Afterwards I feel like a jerk, because I don’t know which is worse, complaining about my petty problems when he has it so much worse, or talking about the things he cannot do, cannot experience. But in the moment it feels so good letting it all out. Until now, I didn’t realize how much I’ve been bottling up inside, how crappy it has felt not having him to share everything with. I’ve missed him so bad that now that he’s finally in front of me, I feel like I’m exploding.

Midsentence, I’m interrupted, when the prison guard yells across the room that there are five minutes left. My face turns white, and I look at Minjun in panic, this can’t be it, this was way too short, no way this was an hour. Cursing, he looks up at me too, and puts his hands on top of my shaking ones.

Panicking, I try to think of something to say, I cannot waste those last few minutes, I have to use them wisely, I have to. But I freeze completely, my throat tightens up and I can think of nothing. Instead we just stare at each other, those incredibly expressive eyes I love so much keeping me captive. Now they are soothing me, consoling me, even though I should be the one supporting him, and I can’t believe that only few minutes from now, I won’t be able to look into those eyes whenever I want to. I cannot come to grips with how incredibly cruel and unfair this is.

My eyes water up, and I try to hold it back, I must be able to keep myself from crying, it’s only a few minutes after all, he shouldn’t see that. As soon as the bell ring, one tear betrays me and runs down my cheek, and he smiles apologetically. There is hurt in his eyes, hyung knows that it is his fault things have turn out this way. He stands up, and automatically I stand up with him. Though he barely whispers, I can hear him loud and clear.

“Will you come again? Visit again?”

“Yes” I answer with a broken voice, before my mind can even decide, but probably it has been obvious from the start. I can’t let him go, even if I want to, and I don’t.

The smile he sends me takes my breath away, and it feels that for a moment everything is perfect, but it doesn’t last. Harshly, I get pulled into his embrace, and he holds me so tightly, like he never wants to let go, suffocating me, but still it’s not close enough so I pull him even tighter. All my senses are alert and for few wonderful seconds, he is all that exists, his body, his heartbeat, the sound of his breath, and his scent.

As much as I try to force this moment to last, it quickly ends, Minjun pulls away, gives me a short smile, mouths “Thank you” and then he’s gone. I watch him join the line of prisoners and leave the room. Even though he doesn’t look back, I stare at the door long after it has been closed behind him.

When I come around again, most people have already left. Embarrassed, I wipe away my tears, and go back, feeling completely numb as I pick up my things from storage. I take my time going through, I don’t really want to face anyone. There are million things going through my head, all the things that we said, and all the things that we didn’t.

Once I get back to the waiting room, almost everyone is gone. The reception girl is caught up in her computer and doesn’t give me any attention. Before going outside, I stop in the bathroom, cleaning my face a bit, making sure I don’t look to horrible. As I exit, I almost bump into the woman that was sitting next to me earlier, holding the hand of her toddler. Hesitantly, she smiles at me, her eyes are all red and swollen. Now I suddenly get it, why she does this, how she comes here, even though for the sake of herself and her kid, she probably shouldn’t. Simply she doesn’t have a choice, this is the only way she can live, and now I finally get it. She and I are the same.

So, I hold the door open for her, and she nods politely, before she walks outside, her toddler running ahead into the slowly falling snow, dragging her along with him.

I wrap my scarf tighter around me, and before continuing, I look back at the gray building. It doesn’t look as scary as before, but that doesn’t mean I dislike it any less. Then I turn around again, and walk back towards my normal life, already counting the minutes until next week, until I can see him again. And in spite of all my worry, my doubts and disbelief, I am really glad I came.