Jinhwan feels the wind streaming through the spaces between his fingers, indulging in the prickling sensation of emptiness as he is complemented by reveries of a slow dance in a crumbling room. He stands in the small balcony overlooking the empty park at the break of dawn, his fists clenching and loosening periodically as he takes deep breaths. It’s a Saturday morning, and his navy blue suitcase lies wide open in the living room.

Thin wrists chained to the twisted metal bars of the balcony, he gazes at the only things keeping him from stepping off the edge of the balcony; and as the sun rises, he notices the dapples of sunlight against the rusting rims, the lines cast across the floor in the living room. He’s trapped, but he likes it that way because idiocy only follows his release. Turning back into the dim apartment, he is greeted by the usual sight of a boy curling himself into a ball quietly on the couch before stretching his long limbs out in an absolutely hilarious manner. Jinhwan forgets the boy’s name at times, but he recognises him as home. A place which would always be there, because he’s been around for as long as he can remember.

“I’ll probably need to change the password to my lock sometime soon.” He chuckles as he looks down at the chains for a few seconds before shutting his eyes. The metallic chains disintegrate into pale blue dust as he stretches himself out, feeling his back muscles tighten before walking into the room.

“Says the boy who doesn’t even remember my name,” The younger boy’s eyes flicker from the floor to the clock on the wall, observing how the white inner surface of the clock had been veiled by a coat of dust over the glass as he exhales heavily. He turns to watch Jinhwan walk through the living room, his steps making muffled thuds against the carpet. He’s lost weight, and he notices the clenching of the boy’s back muscles on his as he his head to one side and lets out a gentle smile. He’s always been this uncontrollable – he never sticks to the path he should take, because he’s stubborn. And he doesn’t ever want to change.

“When did you arrive?” Jinhwan pauses at the counter, allowing himself to lean against the cold marble while he reaches for the jug of water. Jinhwan brings the glass close to his slightly parted lips and eyes the older boy’s movements carefully, watching him settle on the floor before proceeding to take a deep breath, reaching for a book lying on the coffee table.

“Awhile ago, when you were still having fun basking in the sun.” Jiwon chuckles, his voice raw and husky, “I missed you.”

“Save your cheesy lines for the plane ride later,” Jinhwan scoffs and lets out a laugh in response, “Jiwon.”

Jiwon merely turns to smile sheepishly before turning back to the book which lay quietly in his hands, its once elegant edges reduced to crumbling fibre. Jinhwan never knew how to treasure things, letting fragile glass slip through his fingertips only to regret once he hears the sound of its fragile frame shattering. And this sensation returns as Jinhwan lets the glass he held in his right hand slip past his skin, sending it against the parquet flooring as the piece splits into small fragment, mirroring his emotions. He turns back to look at the younger boy for a few moments before turning back to the mess on the floor. He never does anything right, and he hates himself for that.

-

Jinhwan frowns slightly and nibbles on the edges of his passport subconsciously while his right hand, though trembling slightly, holds the passport firmly in place. He sits in the departure hall next to Jiwon, and he doesn’t quite understand why he agreed to leave the country with him for a week.

It’s only when they’re boarding that Jinhwan notices that he’s effectively placing his life, or rather what’s left of his life in the hands of Jiwon since the younger boy had voluntarily, and too enthusiastically, taken up the job of planning an itenary – which included everything from ticketing to meals they were about to have in this trip. And Jinhwan appreciated it, because he was well aware of the boy’s intentions.

Tapping the ticket against his chin, Jinhwan hums gently as he walks down the aisle with Jiwon’s hands pressed firmly against his shoulder and pauses when he feels Jiwon’s fingers digging into the fabric. Turning to glance at the seat number, he then grins and moves in automatically to occupy the window seat. His lips curl further into a wide smile as he hears Jiwon's audible groans over losing the chance to watch the clouds this time, and Jinhwan makes a mental note to let Jiwon sit by the window on the way back. Fitting the safety belt around his thin waist, he glances over and stifles his laughter as Jiwon clearly fumbles with the metal entity, his fingers slipping off its body every time he tried to fit the right pieces together – he was always that clumsy, and yet he reassembles Jinhwan’s cacophony of bones and flesh in the right angles every single time, subconsciously.

“You’re so clumsy.” Jinhwan muses as Jiwon finally manages to fasten his seat belt.

“Thanks for the pointing out the obvious.” The younger male chuckles and turns to face Jinhwan with a sheepish grin, “Aren’t you excited though, about being given a beautiful week where we can be stupid and forget about the things which we usually have straddled over our shoulders.”

“Yeah, I’m really excited.” Jinhwan nods slightly and Jiwon can’t help but frown at how his smile fades slightly.

“Is anything wrong?”

“No, nothing at all.” Jinhwan reaches over to grab Jiwon’s hand and squeezes it slightly, “I’m just tired. I’ll take a nap for a little bit.”

“A’ight.” Jiwon’s voice reduced to a mere whisper, he sighs and turns to the small screen on the seat in front of him, operating it with his right hand as he drew circles on the older boy’s hand repeatedly with his thumb before holding it tightly, as though he was afraid that Jinhwan would drift elsewhere, lost in the clouds.

And as the plane takes off, he turns towards Jinhwan for a few moments, wondering if he was really asleep.

-

Sitting in the small room reeking of the smell of machinery and satisfaction, Jinhwan settles down and presses his bare chest against the surface of the cushioned chair. He hears the familiar sound of the machine starting up as the man tightens his gloves. He detests these sounds, because he’s gone through this process for all too many times over the past year – an indication of the number of people who left. As the man presses cold cotton against his , he flinches and lets out a soft sigh. The man then presses the needles against his back, and Jinhwan knows that its beginning once again. It’s done quickly this time though, and Jinhwan relaxes as he feels the plaster against his back. Reaching for his shirt on the table in front of him, he gets dressed and follows the man out of the room, shutting the door tightly. He wishes that he wouldn’t need to enter this ghostly place again, because he doesn’t want to lose anyone else.

Throughout his childhood, Jinhwan knew that he was somewhat different. Sentences would often make its appearances in his head when he met people, and more often than not, they didn’t make much sense to him. They seemed like random things which would pop up in his head and as a child, he passed these things off as pure idiocy and creativity building up within him. Yet as time went by, Jinhwan began to notice the flipside of these speculations – he remembered gazing at his father’s side profile as a sentence formed in his head; “It’s cold outside, be careful not to fall sick.”

When he was sixteen, his father left the house on one of the mornings in December after these exact words flowed out from his slightly parted lips, and he never returned.

He remembered smiling at his close friend, Yunhyeong on a summer’s afternoon as they walked back to class after a game of basketball.

“Afterall, we’re all but human.”

When he was eighteen, Yunhyeong hurled this sentence to his trembling frame before turning to walk out of their apartment, his lime green suitcase latched firmly in his right hand. That night, Jinhwan recalled watching his friend leave the building and get into his parent’s car. He recalled watching the car intently until it was out of sight. He recalled being left to solitude as he glanced at the interior of the dim apartment as he shivered uncontrollably.

“Goodnight.”

A year later, he lost his brother after they clambered off to sleep, and Jinhwan decided then that his brother got caught up with his fascination towards being able to feel alive within his dreams, towards being able to lie beneath velvet pearl skies with his thoughts forming convoluted constellations far beyond the paltry quantum of intracy anyone would be able to fathom - and he forgot to return home.

And that was when Jinhwan noticed that he could see the last thing which anyone would say to him before they left.

As Jinhwan’s eyelids flicker open, he glances at the clouds outside before turning towards the boy next to him. Jiwon’s fast asleep but his grip on his hand is still strong.

And he was hell bent on stopping Jiwon from saying one sentence.

Just one.