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The doorbell.
It was inevitable; sooner or later someone would come. But maybe if he ignores it, the uninvited visitor will go away.
The shrill sound doesn’t stop.
Then his phone rings. Not a subtle light of a notification or a message; it’s ringing.
He looks at the screen; he knows then he has lost. He’d better pick up.
‘What?’
‘I’m waiting downstairs,’ Jinwoo’s tone is mild, the cadence of his words slow, patient, like speaking to a child. ‘Let me in, ok?’
‘Why?’
‘Your mother’s been worried. You haven’t answered her calls since you came back from Bangkok. Or mine, for that matter.’
‘I’m fine.’
‘Can I come in, please?’
‘No.’
‘I keep ringing the doorbell then. As long as it takes. Or I will get the spare keys from the building manager. You know how patient I am. And resourceful.’
Jinwoo’s soft tone belies the fact that he is an absolute lunatic when needs be.
Pick your battles, they say.
‘Fine, whatever,’ Dongmin presses the buzzer and rests his head against the wall.
Just a moment to close his eyes. Or maybe not. Because this is exactly how he would be standing, right at the door, waiting for Bin to come up –
No. Shut up. Stop. Stop.
The low hum of the elevator brings him back to reality. He could keep the door closed, just to prove something to himself – whatever it is - but what’s the point of trying to prove something?
What’s the point of anything right now?
He yanks the door open.
Jinwoo flinches. He sizes him up and down, like a concerned nurse, then fixes his eyes back to his face again.
‘Min.’
‘What do you want, hyung?’
Despite the hostile tone, he knows what the polite thing is to do; his mum raised him well. He steps aside, even when his whole being bristles inwardly at the pity – and shock – so plain to see on Jinwoo’s face.
This is… not good. He knew that returning to his apartment after Bangkok - instead going back to his parents’ place - was a bad idea but as long as no one saw, things were fine.
Or so he kept telling himself.
Jinwoo toes off his shoes, eyes lingering on the overnight bag dumped at the door, exactly where he dropped it three days ago.
There is his hoodie on the floor in the hallway, the one he wore on his flight home. Jinwoo carefully steps around it as he makes his way – without being invited - to the living room.
‘Oh, God.’
The living room – oh yes. It’s a far cry from the pristine place that Lee Dongmin is usually so proud of.
‘What, you wanna join me?’
There are soju bottles on the rug, beer cans on the coffee table. The whisky bottle is nearly full but only because, when he started, he suddenly remembered they had bought it together with Bin and the memory left him weeping, unable to touch it anymore.
That night, soju did the trick just as nicely.
Jinwoo takes off his leather jacket and sits down in one corner of the large sofa. It’s obvious he is trying really hard not to peer through the open space into the kitchen – but the worry on his face is evident.
‘Hyung. You want that drink or not?’
‘No, thanks. I think I’m ok.’
Jinwoo runs a weary hand over his face and then pats the spot next to him.
‘Come sit.’
He doesn’t move. If he did, he would slump into Jinwoo’s shoulder and start crying. Things might start unravelling after that.
He leans against the wall instead. ‘What do you want, hyung?’
‘I wanted to see you,’ Jinwoo shrugs; his eyes slide past, somewhere near his knees. ‘It’s not good to be alone at this time, for anyone. Come, sit down.’
Jinwoo’s kindness, in the end, is what gets to him; his calm smile always does.
He crosses the room – it feels oddly big, too cavernous for one person to be living here.
He sags into the sofa cushions. ‘Hyung…’
‘Oh, Min.’
The tears, when they come, are not how he would allow himself to cry in front of the camera – the restrained, smooth face; Lee Dongmin, forever beautiful, even while wallowing deeply in sorrow.
This is ugly crying, somewhere between desperate wailing of the raw grief of the first days, and the dry exhausted sobs later, when one’s soul has been drained of everything, when there is nothing left - nothing good, nothing beautiful, nothing alive.
He is definitely closer to the latter.
Jinwoo doesn’t say much, merely keeps squeezing his shoulder and occasionally pulling a tissue out of the nearly-empty box on the table.
They sit like that for a long time, long after his hiccupping sobs have been replaced by silence – at least outwardly.
Inside his head, there is a screaming inferno. However, that is something he is determined not to show, not to let it seep through the thin, carefully applied, barely-there veneer of restraint.
Jinwoo keeps his hand on his shoulder, an unobtrusive, reassuring presence.
‘How was Thailand?’
Dongmin snorts. ‘Are you trying to make small talk?’
‘I am,’ Jinwoo doesn’t seem ruffled. ‘Give me a little credit for trying to distract you.’
‘You know it won’t work.’
‘I know. If I asked you instead how you were really feeling – would you tell me the truth?’
The swift change shouldn’t have hit him utterly unprepared. Jinwoo’s arsenal of thin probes into their soul is numerous and varied – he has, after all, perfected them in the years since their debut.
The lines of his defenses crumble.
‘It’s all my fault.’
‘We’ve talked about this,’ Jinwoo’s tone doesn’t lose his mildness but his squeeze of Dongmin’s shoulder turns more firm, almost painful. ‘It wasn’t your fault.’
‘How do you know?’
The anger comes without warning, not a light frisson to signal the slow rise of his temper; this one is a tidal wave, a tsunami.
He jumps up from the sofa.
‘How do you fucking know, hyung?’
His voice reverberates in the large room. ‘How do you know it wasn’t my fault? Because I shouldn’t have left him alone! I knew he was not well - and I’m not talking about that flu of whatever he caught before Bangkok; we both know what I’m talking about – and still, I knew, and yet – I left and went to a fucking party and – and was there, having a fucking brilliant time – while – Jesus – while he was living the last hours of his life – alone!’
His knees give out. He crumbles in an ungraceful heap and starts weeping again.
‘I should have been around more,’ the tears are sliding into the brand-new sheepskin rug that he only bought a month ago. ‘I should have been nicer to him; I should have paid more attention – ‘
‘Stop that.’ Jinwoo slides off the sofa and kneels next to him, hand carefully rubbing his back. ‘We’ve talked about this; it wasn’t your –‘
‘And?’ he screams into the rug. ‘Do you think the questions in my head will stop just because you tell me it’s not my fault? Do you? And what about you, hyung? Do you ask yourself what you could have done differently? Better? More? Do you?’
‘Every day. Every minute since it happened.’
The hurt in Jinwoo’s voice is a slap in his face; a stark reminder that the pain he feels, the gaping hole in his chest, is not his alone.
‘I’m sorry,’ he gulps down the rest of his angry tears. He rolls on his side and curls up in a ball. It’s almost comfortable like this, the long hair of the rug soft under his cheek.
‘I'm sorry, hyung,’ he sighs and closes his eyes. ‘I know you’re hurting too. I’m sorry. You are the best leader we could ever wish for. You are the best. There was nothing you could have done.’
Jinwoo doesn’t say anything for a while. Dongmin presses his face into the rug and wishes the earth would swallow him whole. Why is he hurting those who are trying to help him? Who are trying to be there for him?
‘Hyung, I’m so-‘
‘Don’t worry about it. When’s the last time you’ve eaten something?’
The tone of Jinwoo’s voice is so smooth that Dongmin knows he is still hurt. But Jinwoo hasn’t been their leader for six years for nothing.
‘Min? When was the last time you’ve eaten? And no, beer or soju don’t count as food.’
‘I – I don’t know. Maybe yesterday?’
Jinwoo gives him a gentle pat on his back. ‘Tell you what. You go and have a shower – sorry but you could really use one – and I will go and make us something to eat.’
‘Ok.’
‘You need to get up though,’ Jinwoo points out mildly.
‘I will.’
‘I mean it.’
‘Me too.’
Jinwoo sighs and gets up. ‘Fine. I’ll go and start on the dinner.’
His receding footsteps echo against the empty walls.
(Yes, after the funeral, he took off every single picture of Bin he had in the whole place. To see his face everywhere felt too much. The nails don’t look too bad; he got almost used to them by now.)
‘Shit! What happened here?’
Ah, the kitchen. He forgot about that. He curls up on the rug again, the plan to somehow make it to the bathroom forgotten.
‘It was just a glass, hyung,’ he calls, trying to imbue his voice with a lightness he doesn’t feel.
‘Just a glass?’
Even from here, with his face pressed into the rug, he can see Jinwoo’s sceptically raised eyebrows.
‘I got angry last night,’ his vision blurs again at the memory, hazy as it is.
Jinwoo’s socked feet appear next to him, then Jinwoo’s legs in jeans, as he kneels beside him.
‘You got angry?’
‘Yeah, hyung, angry,’ he blinks away the tears and lifts his head to meet Jinwoo’s carefully bank gaze. ‘Angry because he – he left me here – alone. I think I shouted. And threw a glass at him.’
He laughs. Judging by the way Jinwoo flinches, it’s not a nice laugh.
‘Turns out there was no one there to shout at. Just a wall. An empty wall. An empty room. An empty room, hyung – do you understand?’
He is raising his voice again and the shame washes over him - a swift, uncomfortable wave.
‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be shouting at you.’
‘It’s fine,’ Jinwoo gives him a thin, watery smile. Dongmin doesn’t dwell too much on the fact that Jinwoo’s eyes are now getting red too. ‘You go and shower, Min, and I will sweep the glass and rustle up something to eat.’
……………….
The stream of hot water hitting his back is oddly comforting but the smooth tiles, the glass door, the familiarity of it all, stings. How many times were they here together, him washing Bin’s hair – the suds sliding down Bin’s back, so smooth – don’t think about it - don’t think about it –
He runs out of the shower, almost breaking his neck on the slippery floor.
Still towelling his hair, he barges into his walk-in wardrobe. Avoiding looking into the mirror and thinking too much about the rows of Bin’s clothes, he grabs the closest pair of clean sweatpants and a t-shirt, and hastily throws them on.
There, done. He is clean; he has accomplished something. Success.
He needs a break. After days of being almost catatonic, the sudden burst of activity has left him a little out of breath.
Yes, he needs a break.
Just a moment to close his eyes.
…………………..
‘Min!’
He blinks, disoriented by the glare of the light above his head.
Jinwoo is standing in the door, shifting uneasily. ‘Sorry, Min, I didn’t mean to barge in like this – it’s just, you took an awfully long time and –‘
He peters out but the unspoken words hang in the air between them, heavy like lead.
It’s not a secret that everyone is watching him now. Hovering, silent hawks guarding the lonely figure, the one ‘left behind.’
Dongmin doesn’t blame Jinwoo for being worried. He knows only too well that particular grip of cold fear. When Bin was running late for their date or when he was not picking up his phone; when instead of Bin’s singing, he was greeted by silence after he got home. The sickening drop of his stomach – is it this time, Jesus, please, no, don’t let it be, please – only to find Bin in the bedroom with his headphones on, asleep. Leaning against the doorframe on shaky legs, thank Christ, thank you, thank you, thank you. Giving thanks to whatever deity there was for another day. Another day granted to them.
Jinwoo knows – and Dongmin scrambles up, ashamed that he should now be the object of those worries.
‘I just needed to close my eyes for a bit.’
‘Please don’t tell me you’ve been sleeping here,’ Jinwoo says so softly Dongmin almost doesn’t hear him.
His cheeks heat up. So what if he was – what’s wrong with that?
Jinwoo is eyeing the heap of clothes on the floor, the pillow, the blanket. The question is there, unspoken, yet loud, like bells tolling.
‘I – well – I might have.’
‘Oh, Min.’
‘It smells like him here,’ he does his best not to start crying again; then he laughs at the memory – a choked-up chuckle battling the tears. ‘He would always leave his dirty clothes here on the floor, instead of putting them in the laundry basket. I used to get mad. And then – when it happened – I went straight to mum and dad’s, I even had my clothes sent for me from here; then to Thailand – and when I came back home after,’ his voice makes a somersault at the word home, ‘when I came back, I walked in here and it nearly killed me.’
Ignoring Jinwoo, he kneels on the floor and scoops up the armful of clothes off the floor. He cradles them to his chest.
‘I found them here, on the floor,’ he whispers, burrowing his face in the bundle of fabric. He inhales. ‘When I closed my eyes, it was like he was still here. With me. And our bed – I couldn’t.’
‘Oh, Min,’ Jinwoo’s voice grows careful, like his steps earlier, tiptoeing around the shards of glass.
He can’t bear the pity. The pain in Jinwoo’s voice, reflecting his own. The words are coming now though, an avalanche hurtling down.
‘I miss him, hyung. I miss him so much I can hardly breathe sometimes. I don’t know how to live without him. It doesn’t make sense. That I won’t see his face ever again, or hear his voice. That I won’t touch his skin ever again, that I won’t - ever – hold his hands again. I love his hands, you know? He had such nice hands. Nice everything, really. He was so beautiful. I wish I could paint so I could paint a picture of him every day.’
He starts crying again. ‘I don’t want to live without him.’
Jinwoo carefully crouches down. ‘Would you like me to stay the night? I don’t think you should be alone right now.’
He feels pathetically grateful, yet ashamed, and wipes his tears as quickly as he can. ‘What about your rehearsal tomorrow?’
‘It won’t make any difference if I leave from here in the morning. You will lend me a clean T-shirt and we’re good.’
He clutches Bin’s clothes, breathing in the diminishing scent. ‘Thank you, hyung.’
…………………………..
They have dinner at the kitchen table, Jinwoo awkwardly apologising for his lack of culinary efforts - sorry it’s just fried rice, there wasn’t that much in the fridge - while Dongmin barely notices what he is eating.
Afterwards, he makes an effort to offer help with cleaning up. He takes care of the kitchen and lets Jinwoo tackle the mess in the living room.
‘Now that looks rather nice, doesn’t it?’
Jinwoo surveys the place with a critical eye, sounding pleased. Dongmin grudgingly agrees. The coffee table is empty and polished, the rug straightened, nothing left on the floor. The only evidence of the last three days are two black rubbish bins in the kitchen, and if it wasn’t for the lack of pictures on the wall, the place would look exactly like it did when he was leaving for LA.
He makes a swift mental U-turn, away from that train of thought. Best not to think about LA.
Jinwoo must sense his darkening thoughts because his next words come almost too quickly, too smoothly.
‘Should we go to bed? I don’t know about you but I’m exhausted.’
‘Yeah, ok.’
‘To bed,’ Jinwoo says pointedly. ‘Sooner or later you have to try so might as well do it now, while I'm here. Please.’
The prospect terrifies him but Jinwoo is right. He can’t avoid his own bed forever.
‘Would you, maybe, stay with me then?’ he stammers. ‘As in – not in the guest room? I don’t – I mean – I don’t want to be alone there – I know I will have to, at some point. But not tonight.’
Jinwoo smiles softly. ‘That’s ok.’
……………………..
The bed feels cold. He holds Bin’s clothes in his arms and watches Jinwoo sliding under the covers next to him, maintaining a respectable distance.
‘Do you want the nightlight on, Min?’
‘No.’
The darkness doesn’t scare him. The darkness is his best friend now because he can close his eyes in the darkness and feel Bin next to him.
They lie in silence. Every muscle in Dongmin’s body is tense to the point of snapping. He is hyper-aware of every single breath Jinwoo takes, of every rustle of the sheets.
It will be a long night.
‘You know what I was always envious of?’
Jinwoo’s quiet voice startles him badly but he tries not to let it show.
‘What, hyung?’
‘How Binnie was able to fall asleep anywhere,’ Jinwoo chuckles in the darkness. ‘What a gift that was.’
Dongmin clutches the bundle of clothes closer to his chest. Talking about Bin should be hard – and yet, he is pitifully grateful to have someone next to him now, someone who knew the real Bin and who understands.
‘Yeah,’ he smiles at nothing in particular, eyes wandering over the ceiling. ‘Do you remember that time when he fell asleep while eating and fell off the chair?’
‘How could I forget?’ huffs Jinwoo. He sounds pleased with himself for having managed to coax a smile out of them both.
Something heavy lifts off Dongmin’s chest.
‘He was so cute when he was asleep. His little pout.’
‘And how he always threw his arms over his head, like a baby.’
Even in the darkened room, Dongmin hears Jinwoo’s smile.
‘How would you know how a baby sleeps, hyung?’
‘Excuse me,’ Jinwoo fakes indignation. ‘I have two nephews and a niece. I’ve seen more babies than you ever have in your life.’
Dongmin ribs him in the shoulder. ‘I don’t need to watch sleeping babies when I can watch Binnie –‘
He stops, frozen. How could he –
‘I keep forgetting he is not here anymore,’ he whispers, pained. ‘And – oh, god, how can I even make jokes when he is not –‘
‘He wouldn’t want us to be sad all the time, Min,’ interrupts Jinwoo smoothly. ‘You know what? I have an idea. I know it’s hard but tell me one thing about him. Nice or funny or even annoying – anything. Something you remember. And then I’ll have a go.’
Dongmin’s mind goes blank. ‘I don’t - I - you go first.’
Jinwoo chuckles. ‘I love how he never succeeded in turning me into his gym buddy – and, boy, did he try.’
Reluctant as he is, Dongmin clutches at the offered straw of distraction. ‘Yeah, that was a spectacular failure on his part, hyung. But maybe it’s better this way. If you, as a leader, got obsessed with the gym the same way Bin was, we all would be finished.’
Jinwoo laughs. ‘That’s true. Count your lucky stars that my hatred for the gym is strong. Now your turn.’
This time, the words slip out easily, as smooth as silk.
‘He was so beautiful. He was, wasn’t he? So beautiful it hurt. He never thought he was - always worried about his weight, about everything – but he – he took my breath away every morning. And every night.’
Dongmin closes his eyes and smiles. ‘I loved holding him while he slept. Loved the feel of his back pressing into my chest; to feel his breathing under my hand. To feel his heartbeat, to -‘
He stops mid-sentence. The admission feels too raw, too private, even for Jinwoo who probably knew them better than anyone else.
‘God, I’m so embarrassing. You really don’t need to listen to me talking about us spooning.’
‘It’s ok,’ reaching across the bed, Jinwoo pats his arm. ‘I like listening to you when you talk about him. I miss him too – and it’s hard to talk about it. I know our families understand, our friends – but we were the ones who knew him the best. And you probably the most. So it’s nice – when you talk about him – it feels like he is still around.’
Dongmin cries again after that. But, somehow, it feels different this time. Cleansing. Grateful.
After he calms down, he wipes his tears, trying to be more composed, more grown-up. He still has responsibilities.
‘What about Binnie’s place now? Do you know what’s happening?’
‘Sua’s been taking care of it. Packing up, giving some stuff away. Mostly she just tidied the place and kept Binnie’s personal things organised. Not sure what they’re planning to do – it’s too early still.’
‘Do you know what happened to –‘
Jinwoo knows him well. ‘I went with her one day and put your stuff in a couple of boxes.’
‘Thank you. I mean – I will – at some point – I will go back again -‘
‘I can bring everything here if you don’t want to go right now.’
He could weep from gratitude at Jinwoo’s kindness. ‘I’m so sorry; I feel like a complete failure. I’ve promised Binnie that I would take care of everything – and look at me now.’
‘But you have been,’ Jinwoo points out calmly. ‘Before you left for Bangkok, you were like a rock. Dependable, always there for everyone – for Sua, for Binnie’s parents, for us. The moment you got off that plane from LA, you didn’t stop. I was wondering –‘
‘What? What were you wondering?’
‘I – don’t get me wrong,’ Jinwoo visibly squirms. ‘I was very grateful to you; it was a relief to have someone to lean on; those first days were absolutely awful. But you were like a man possessed. I was wondering how long it would last.’
He shuffles closer and gives Dongmin’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. ‘I was wondering when you would crack. And was afraid how bad it will be when it comes.’
Dongmin cringes. ‘And? Is it as bad as you expected?’
‘I don’t know.’ sighs Jinwoo. ‘It’s hard to function these days. Everyone is doing their best to pretend they are coping and what’s on the surface is not always the worst thing. So – I don’t know. But I’m here if you need to shout at someone or throw more glasses. Just not at me, please.’
‘Thank you, hyung,’ Dongmin tries hard not to well up again. ‘Same for you. Even the best leader needs to cry sometimes. I’m here if you need me.’
‘Don’t know about crying. I’ve done that in the first week – cried so much I think I got dehydrated. Now I don’t have the strength to cry anymore. Just feeling empty. And guilty.’
The resignation in Jinwoo’s voice scares Dongmin to the core. The misery seeping through, the helplessness.
‘Hyung, don’t say that. Please. You said it yourself - it wasn’t my fault. But neither was it yours. I sometimes forget that I’m not the only one feeling like that. Getting angry at everyone, then blaming myself. Don’t do it, hyung. Don’t blame yourself. It’s not gonna bring Binnie back.’
He laughs bitterly. ‘At least I can say his name out loud now. I guess that’s progress.’
He rolls over on his side and holds Jinwoo’s gaze for the first time since he came. ‘Let’s try not to blame ourselves, ok?’
‘Ok,’ nods Jinwoo. He sounds tired to the bone but attempts a little smile.
‘It’s not gonna work, is it?’
‘Probably not but we need to keep trying.’
Dongmin smiles back; a pathetic attempt overall but Jinwoo is right. He needs to keep trying - for the others, for Bin.
‘And sorry for not answering your calls and worrying everyone. Sorry you had to come all the way here because I was a selfish asshole.’
‘You’re not a selfish asshole, Min, ok? So stop that. But I almost forgot. I brought you something. Let me get it; it’s in my jacket.’
Jinwoo slides out of bed before Dongmin manages to open his mouth. He watches Jinwoo’s retreating back and tries not to let anxiety override his thoughts.
It will be something he’s forgotten at Bin’s place. Or worse, something that belongs to Bin. He wraps his arms around him to stop himself from shaking.
‘Here,’ Jinwoo appears at the door. ‘Found them in his spare backpack - thought you might want to keep them. Judging by the way your ears used to glow when Binnie let you read some of them, not all of them were “safe for work.” No need for Sua or her mum to find them. I mean, he wrote most of them for you anyway.’
The sound that escapes him is utterly undignified, a high-pitched keening noise, like a wild animal falling into a ravine, its body breaking on the impact.
He snatches the black leather notebook out of Jinwoo’s outstretched hand.
‘Binnie. Binnie, Binnie, Binnie -’
He curls on the bed and wails, wrapping his whole body around Bin’s poems, like a mother shielding her newborn child from a raging storm.
‘Binnie, oh, Binnie -’
Jinwoo slides back into bed. ‘Shh, shh - hey - it’s ok -shh-’
Everything feels muted, hazy, like being underwater, the smooth leather under his cheek the last thing tethering him to reality. He hugs the notebook and feels like his heart is being ripped out of his body.
‘Hey, Min. Min. Shh. Min.’ There is panic creeping into Jinwoo’s voice. ‘Shh, hey, it’s ok. Min, please?’
It’s the pleading desperation in Jinwoo’s voice that pulls him back; stops him from falling over the edge.
‘Hyung?’
Jinwoo scoots closer and, without talking, gathers him carefully in his arms.
The closeness doesn’t stop the tears but it brings safety. He knows he can cry now, as much as he needs - someone has him. Jinwoo won't let him fall.
He cries, for a long time. The tears dampen his cheeks, soak into his hair, into Jinwoo’s t-shirt, the pillow.
He feels Jinwoo’s hand cradling the back of his head, quietly, without talking, giving him space.
When his sobs die down, he feels hollowed out, a shell of a man. A husk.
‘Why was it not enough?’
‘What?’ Jinwoo’s fingers card gently through his hair. ‘What was not enough?’
‘My love,’ he whispers. ‘Why was my love not enough to make him happy?’
These are pointless questions - they both know that.
Yet Jinwoo hugs him tighter. ‘But it was. It was enough, Min. You made him happy. When he was with you, he was happy.’
He buries his face in Jinwoo’s shoulder. ‘Why then? Why?’
‘I don’t know, Min,’ Jinwoo sighs heavily. ‘I don’t know. Sometimes one’s demons are impossible to outrun. And he tried. He tried really hard to beat them. For you, for himself, for all of us. It’s just -’
‘Yeah,’ Dongmin stifles his wobbled sob into Jinwoo’s shoulder.
‘But that doesn’t mean he wasn’t happy. You know that, right? You made him happy. Dancing made him happy - you need to remember that.’
The leather of Bin’s notebook is warm as he strokes it with his fingers. ‘I’ll try.’
Jinwoo pulls the covers over them. ‘How about we try to sleep now? You think you might be able to manage a little bit of sleep?’
The warmth of Jinwoo’s arms, the deep rumble of his voice is comforting.
‘Ok.’
He buries his nose in Bin’s clothes and hugs the poems - the one remaining piece of Bin’s soul - to his heart.
He’ll try.