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01. Highway to Hell
Lee Chan knew that Chwe Hansol always prepared for things ahead of time, too prepared, but not because of an anxiety that would cause him to lose his nerve. He just loved to do so.
For example, whenever he stole a glance at Hansol before every class, he would always have his textbooks ready and his notebook opened on the right page even if he was taking a quick nap while waiting for the class to begin.
Also, every time Chan asked what Hansol would have for a breakfast the next morning, the boy would talk about his choice with a relaxed expression. As if it was an ordinary thing for everyone to always plan their meals one day in advance. He knew all of them was true because Seungkwan, who lived next door to Hansol and was also his close friend, would tell him how lovely Hansol was in the morning during their lunchtime, and Chan never got tired of hearing it.
And so it was.
Inside the square room decorated with white flowers and wreath, soulless and disturbing, rock and roll music was constantly echoed through the space, a shrill guitar playing alongside the tearful wails that bounced between groups of people, making the loss even more distinct, and the sorrow felt more unbearable.
However, Chan didn't feel those heartbreak at all.
"Who the hell would play Highway to Hell at their funeral?"
"Hansol, of course."
Chan replied, staring blankly at the bland monotone photo in the frame, his thumb stroking the back of Seungkwan's hand as he sobbed and broke down beside him. He neither flinched nor yelped when his best friend's nails dug into his hand. Chan just let him, let Seungkwan clung onto him as if he was holding onto the only driftwood amidst an ocean of tears.
Another fresh example. Hansol had prepared a playlist for his own funeral, stored in the account which remained log into Seungkwan's laptop. He had also wrote a description of the playlist for them:
'No matter how obvious my relatives' frown are or how confused they are going to be, make sure this playlist is played at my funeral. Even just only one song-'
It was cut off mid sentence due to character limitation. But Chan knew it was followed by '-is enough. Thank you for fulfilling my stubborn and ridiculous request. I just don't want it to be too boring.'
Hansol hadn't changed at all. He still loved rock music as it inspired him to become a guitarist someday, and Chan was glad that at least he had his favorite pieces as his elegy. Even though he thought it might be better to change from Highway to hell to some other songs like Shoot me a smile, or maybe his favorite track of all time like Caroline Polachek's Sunset which were nowhere to be found in the playlist. But Hansol had already arranged it. So who was Chan to object?
And even if he wanted to add or change the song, Hansol was not here to argue with him anymore.
Chan looked at every curve, every straight and squiggly line, all of asymmetry and element on the face he wholeheartedly dedicated his youth and every summertime to. If his mind didn't play a trick to him, this was a photo Hansol had taken three months ago. The photographer had called each class into the conference room for the yearbook's picture. Chan remembered that we could pose however we wanted. He recalled himself mimicking an actor he loved by raising his eyebrow a little. Seungkwan crossed his arms and rubbed his chin like the main character in some cheesy movie. And Hansol—that guy—just gave the camera a two-finger salute with his signature nonchalant face as he had done for the past eighteen years whenever the camera was in front of him.
Chan remembered vividly. Although the photo had been cropped to show only his face and neck, this was from back then. He could never have remembered wrongly.
But Hansol was allergic to pollen. Chan wondered if he was sneezing or having trouble breathing right now since the frame was surrounded by so many flowers.
Wouldn't it be more pleasing to Hansol if he had turned them into several cats cuddling up against him?
Hansol absolutely loved cats. That's why he followed the stray cat he'd found after a long class at cram school through a narrow alley in the evening to the unfamiliar road. There he came across a young girl crossing the street, unaware that a car driven by a drunken, arrogant piece of jerk was heading towards her. Hansol knew better, so he rushed to save the girl. But the time between life and death was just a blink of an eye. Instead, he could only push the child with all his might, and it was Hansol himself who was hit in the next second. This was all Chan, Seungkwan, and Hansol's family later witness through the CCTV footage with a broken heart.
But if Hansol became an angel or a cat, wouldn't he have been blessed by god to be immune to the pollen by now?
Chan pondered the unanswered question, hugging Seungkwan with his heart beating so softly he could barely feel it.
02. Shoes
The ceremony proceeded simply and traditionally, with the lamentations of those whose pain were nowhere to be healed. The rock and roll music was paused to allow the religious ritual to be conducted. Chan bowed his head low. His vision limited only to his black shoes which had become too tight due to growing up. Maybe it's time for him to get a new pair.
Then he remembered.
Hansol wears the same shoe size as him.
Since we were kids, Chan and Hansol have always had many things in common. Favorite TV shows, weight, weather, and shoes size. Chan and Hansol always went shopping for new shoes together at the department store nearby. It may be a pure coincidence, but both of them always started to notice at the same time that their walk, which were once comfortable and carefree, had become annoying because of the cage called the old and worn-out shoes.
Another thing was height. While Hansol was taller now, it took several years to reach his current height of 176 centimeters. Chan had a period of about two years where he was taller than Hansol. It was such a funny time full of lighthearted teasing as Hansol was the shortest of the three of them. Whenever they walked together, Chan and Seungkwan would often tease Hansol, resulting in a punch on their shoulders and a laughter. Just for about a year after, Hansol suddenly surpassed them both in height, surprisingly. The boy became the one who held an umbrella for everyone when it rained and became the one who took advantage of it to find the sign of the restaurant the three of them were looking for in the crowd. Hansol rarely teased Chan and Seungkwan back, and Chan couldn't help but feel a little embarrassed. He had once mumbled an apology to Hansol when they skipped a class to go grab a burger at a mall, but Hansol didn't mind.
"When I was shorter, didn't you guys fight over who's gonna hold an umbrella with me in the middle? Now that I'm taller than you both, it's my turn."
"Come on, it's not my job or anything I should be reciprocated."
"I wanted to do it for you guys. It looks cool."
"So you're saying that I look cool." Chan shrugged, making sure it looked annoying enough to distract Hansol from the fact that he was blushing.
"What the hell is that." Hansol laughed. "But even though I'm taller than you and Seungkwan now, we still wear the same shoe size. That's amazing, isn't it?"
Chan keep starring at his shoes as if there was something really interesting about them. His gaze was determined like if he stared at it for two more seconds, a resurrection spell buried in the deepest chamber of the earth by the witch would miraculously appear in his mind. But in reality, there were only the sounds of conversation, the strong scent of incense, and the smallest pollen that wafted through the room, accompanied by the scent of chrysanthemums.
If Hansol had the chance to go together, our shoes might both have a different number written on it, together, again.
Hansol probably never thought that, on a normal day after this, Chan would go out to the local shoe store, or perhaps to the same department store where we used to laugh over burgers and spilled cola to buy a new pair of shoes all alone.
But even if Hansol knew, he probably didn't expect Chan to decide to keep every pair of shoes with the number 270mm engraved on them forever. Because it would now be the last thing he'd have in common with Hansol, whose time could never move forward again.
03. Why Don't You Cry
Until the ritual was over, he and Seungkwan volunteered to help prepare the dining area as Hansol's family members had to take care of the guests. Seungkwan was still in tears, just like three hours earlier, or perhaps like the day he'd heard the news. Since that day, Chan hadn't seen his friend without tears on his face, not even once. He could only offer him a handkerchief and stay by his side.
"Chan, Seungkwan too. You're here."
He tilted his head to the voice and saw a classmate he wasn't particularly close to, but neither felt any estrangement. He was their class president, busy all day collecting everyone's homework sheet for teachers, attending class meetings, and performing flawlessly, typical of the exemplary student and his position. He was dressed in black— of course— and his eyes were red— of course. His classmate's sudden death. Even though he wasn't close to them, nor to Hansol, it was still heartbreaking. At this age, he, all of us, wasn't supposed to be facing such a tragic situation.
"I'm sorry for your loss. You guys are his closest friends."
"Thanks for coming. Hansol would be happy if he knows."
Chan replied instead of Seungkwan who started to sob again, wrapping his arms around his classmate and gave a gentle pat on the shoulder, as was his habit. Chan, then, saw his eyebrows furrowed.
"Chan, aren't you sad? I haven't seen you cry since I arrived. It's like you don't even feel anything."
He did not expect that to came out of his classmate mouth. So Chan stared into the other's eyes, searching for the emotions within him to formulate an answer that would be pleasing, a response that wouldn't alienate him, a response that would truly make him feel.
But before he could say anything, Seungkwan, who had been sobbing right next to him, took a step forward, reached out to grab his hand and said in a hoarse voice that Chan had never heard before and hoped he wouldn't have to hear again.
"Does regret only shown in the form of tears? Do you think humans are robots that respond to a certain situation in the same way?"
After that, the classmate said nothing more than a heartfelt apology, which Seungkwan accepted it with understanding and returned to where he stood before. Both of them continued to arrange the cart and utensils. It was a little bumpy as Seungkwan held onto his hand, refusing to let go until Chan whispered a thank you.
Seungkwan turned to look at him with eyes that had lost their sparks along with Hansol's appearance.
Chan realized, as his other fingertips moved away, that Seungkwan's hand was suddenly cold for some unknown reason, just like Hansol's hand under the white fabric he'd held for the last time days ago. Chan apologized quietly in his head. Perhaps his hands were too hot for Seungkwan, for Hansol, for everyone. He was different.
He was an alien, unable to blend in with human. He was a violin string which was out of tune, producing a sharp, unpleasant sound. He was everything that didn't belong to anywhere.
Those words from their classmate lingered in his mind, sinking into the abyss alongside Hansol's warmth. Chan couldn't reached for even a fraction of it no matter how hard he tried. So he let himself sank, fell down, and disappeared in the same abyss, hopelessly hoping he could be finally embraced by the lost warmth at the bottom.
Chan could only apologize to Seungkwan for having to step up for him, even though what his friend had said was probably correct.
Seungkwan-ah, maybe he's right.
Aren't you sad, Chan?
04. Call Us, You're Not Alone
Chan took a leave from school today, and so did Seungkwan.
The homeroom teacher didn't ask much as she understood. She's a good teacher, always attentive to all her students, never failing to notice. When Chan called her to inform her, he heard her sniffling and softly sobbing. Though the sound seemed distant, as if the distance from home to school had really affected the call, Chan was sure that he hadn't mistaken it.
Of course, it was because Hansol was one of her favorite students, his habit of preparing his textbook before the class and his constant eagerness to answer questions during the class she taught gained him a good reputation. Chan knew Hansol wasn't this attentive in every subject, but she might not have known that Hansol just happened to enjoy social studies, which was also her class.
She simply told him that Seungkwan had also taken a leave today, and reminded them both to take care of themselves. She concluded, as a teacher would, that they still have to catch up with homework after. Chan thanked her again, then hung up the phone the second he let his arm fall freely onto the bed, as swayed by gravity.
He stared at the blank ceiling without any motive; it was just at his eye level.
Should he go to check on Seungkwan?
Seungkwan's house and Hansol's weren't that far from his. It would only take a fifteen-minute walk, or five minutes if he borrowed his father's rusty bicycle and pedal as fast as he could.
Actually, he thought, he might not have to go. As it was an exam week right after the funeral, everything was so rushed and depressing that there was almost no time for them to grief. Seungkwan probably needed some time alone. Furthermore, he always called when he was overwhelmed and needed someone to be with him. That was an unwritten agreement— an oath, even— between the three of us. So Chan thought it might still be fine.
Chan remembered that the beginning of this promise came from on one else but himself. Junior high school was a difficult time for him. He was never an academic-gifted kid and always enjoyed extracurricular activities more, but the education system forced him into a cage consisting of a blackboard with broken white chalks in half, and twenty-five chairs and tables in it. The value of student named Lee Chan with student ID 292018, reluctantly, was judged and assessed with a letter C and a ranking of 17/25 on the cold, white paper that cut his heart to bleed. His old self usually didn't feel bad about it as he was aware that this was his first time living his life. But in this new society, the thoughts and perceptions of others were something he couldn't control. The sarcastic gazes, glazed with sweetness called consolation had been shot through Chan's heart by his friends, leaving a void that felt miserably disgusting. At that time, none of them belonged to the same class. So he had no one to look for in the crowd.
It was only then, at thirteen, that Chan truly understood the feeling of struggling alone through the vast vortex called growing up.
It just so happened that his class ended earlier than usual on the grade announcement day of a second semester. Chan remembered walking home early without texting Hansol and Seungkwan, nor waiting at their usual meeting spot. His heart felt like it was floating far away, yet the organ still weighed heavily in his chest. He wandered aimlessly until he coincidentally arrived at the old playground near his home. Although he didn't want to go home and face his parents' disappointed gazes, although he wasn't ready to go back to being the failed older brother he once was, his feet, subconsciously, followed a familiar path. At least it took two wrong turns to delay his schedule.
Time had passed, long enough for the sun to set. That day, Chan sat on the creaking swing. He remembered there was a child waiting for him to get up. Chan wasn't sure why the child didn't get on the swing next to him. Perhaps this was his usual spot. But Chan didn't care. Even after the child returned home with a pouty face, he still had only the image of the disgusting number in his mind.
Before it could completely drove him to tears, two familiar voices called out his name in unison. Before he could even look up, a warm embrace was given to him in a full force that he'd almost fall over the swing if he hadn't held the chain tight enough. The sound of someone's heavy breathing landed on his eardrums, the familiar scent mix with sweat dominated the scene; It was Hansol embracing every broken pieces of him from falling apart. He didn't ask Chan a single question, nor did he hear a single curse. Only one sentence Hansol gave him along with a trembling hands placed softly on his back as if he was afraid Chan would broke down, relieved yet terrified.
"You're not as good at hide-and-seek as I am, Chan."
Seungkwan, who had arrived a few seconds later, hugged them both again, sobbing loudly as he rubbed their backs. Chan then cried like a child, uttering incoherent apologies until Hansol reached up to stroke his hair and repeatedly told him It's okay. It's okay. We've got you now. We love you, Chan. I love you.
After minutes full of tears, Chan told them everything, trusting that Hansol and Seungkwan would be the last people in the world to turn their backs on him or brush his worries off. And his trust wasn't betrayed. Even the words of that day began to fade like an invisible fog obscuring them, but this promise was still vividly engraved on his mind.
Chan glanced down at the phone in his hand, his fingers typing a familiar number with a muscle memory . He pressed the call button, hoping to hear that familiar voice again. He held the phone to his ear and stared back at the ceiling.
Ring,
Ring,
Ring,
"...The person you are trying to call is unavailable. Please try again later…"
Chan didn't expect anything other than this to happen. Hansol's phone must be lying in the school bag his family received from the policeman. By now, that bag must be in his bedroom, waiting to be charged again by its owner who would never return.
Chan took a deep breath.
Silence descended on the room, creeping over everything. The morning sunlight filtering through the curtains didn't help warm him up in the slightest.
"…If you need anything, you can always call us, you know right, Hansol? Even if you don't have anything to say, you can always call me."
He probably knows that, Chan thought. After all, it was Hansol who initiated this promise.
"...Because I'll call you too, even if it ends up like this."
05. Social Studies
"Hey, Red Panda."
"Shut up." the red panda punched him in the shoulder, letting out a laugh that sounded more like a short breath.
Chan shifted a school bag to his left shoulder and raised his right arm to hug Seungkwan's neck, just like he always did— just like Hansol had always done.
"How many books do you think Hansol has under his desk?"
Seungkwan asked, out of nowhere. Chan started to think that his friend had adopted Hansol's behavior little by little.
"Six. Three textbooks and three novels from the library."
"Being so specific, huh."
"Just guessing. What about you?"
"Four. Three textbooks and one novel. The ones you said he borrowed, he made me return two of them earlier."
"You're cheating! You knew it but I don't!" Chan whined.
Seungkwan let out a huff of a winner before letting out a long sigh like the duration of a red traffic light which held us all in place. The final tremor was like a dam of tears that never quite managed to hold back the waves of emotion.
"Did you bring an extra bag?"
"There's one inside."
They weren't just going to class today, but they planned to bring Hansol's stuff back to his family and to free up the desk behind Chan, slightly to his right side. Seungkwan was in a different class, so he then said he'd come help clean up later.
Seungkwan had already entered the classroom, while Chan had to take another thirty-two steps to reach his desk. But on his sixteenth step, the moment his foot hit the doorframe, he saw an origami flower instead of the fresh one on the desk of someone who forever took a leave from school, or maybe staying here eternally from now on. Chan saw a group of classmate standing nearby, both boys and girls, looking somber and melancholic.
He walked in as usual, greeting them with a strange feeling in his throat, as if he was walking on a gray-scale world full of emotions, wondering what was real and what was lies. Nevertheless, he gave his classmates a slight smile and thanked them for the beautiful paper flowers. One of them said they remembering Hansol having a pollen allergy from their previous class field trip, and offered to fold him a flower instead.
The bell rang at the usual time. Their homeroom teacher entered, beaming, but he could see that beneath that smile was still a shattered heart. Death is never, and should never be, a trivial matter, no matter how much we grow. The sudden disappearance of a person as if they never existed seems eerily ironic compared to the overwhelming memories left behind by those still living. She talked about Hansol for about four minutes before moving on to the daily lesson with wavering voice. Chan noticed her hands shaking slightly, but if he were her, standing in front of the class right now, he would probably be the same. The dread of asking a question but not hearing a familiar voice answering, which had begun to settle in her mind as the time drew near, was always terrifying.
It was during lunch break that Seungkwan walked in, headed straight to Hansol's desk adorned with paper flowers, and quietly began packing up things, in complete silence. Occasionally, he would stare at Hansol's English textbook, in awe with beautiful handwriting, running his finger along the lines of the pen until he formed the exact sentence Hansol had written. Seungkwan did it for three or four times, as if he were to carve how the letter A should be written into his heart for evermore.
Chan began to feel a crack in his heart. Like tree roots digging deep into the earth, breaching the ground.
06. Stray Cats
Since Fridays were the day class ended early, Chan, Seungkwan, and Hansol often walk out to buy Popsicle to eat along the way. They always stopped by the fence on the hillside to admire the scenery of the river, adored a stream which gleamed under the sunlight for a moment and catching their breath after a long day before returning home.
Now it was Friday. Seungkwan was waiting in line while Chan enjoyed the Popsicle under the bright sunlight. Sweat dripped down his face and the folds of his clothes. His once-white school uniform had become more translucent as liquid flowed over. The smell of vanilla filled his mouth, and the unfamiliar sweetness pierced his throat. But Chan had to admitted that it was delicious. He now understood why Hansol never change his ice cream flavors. He must loved it just as much as how Chan couldn't get over chocolate-flavored one.
"Don't you usually pick mint? Why is it vanilla today?"
"You too, I guess." Seungkwan glanced at him. "You always pick chocolate."
Chan shrugged, bent down and picked up his bags from the ground. He casually slung them over his shoulder before walking with Seungkwan. Luckily, there was still a chill breeze, keeping the heat from getting too hot.
The river still flowed gently. Everything continued in its cycle in the end. The existence of one person is so insignificant to them. When one's life drifted away, the stars didn't dim, the world didn't collapse, and neither did the trees suddenly withered. Everything continued to move forward like cogs, functioning normally. All of these were something Hansol had said out of the blue after he finished his favorite philosophy book on Chan's bed during our New Year's Eve sleepover, to which Seungkwan frowned, bored by the profound topic.
"The sun sets earlier today, isn't it?"
Seungkwan remarked.
Chan noticed that the once-variegated buildings were now almost everywhere coated in a terracotta orange. It was the sun that devoured everything, molding everything into its own. Whether tall or short, living or non-living, everything was dyed into the colors which belonged to the same palette. Chan wondered and begged that the sunlight would swallow him up too. The alienated him, the different him, the one who cared too much of everything, the one whose heart only longed for Hansol despite never shed a single drop of tears, so that he could finally blend in and shine in the evening like everyone else.
But deep down, he knew that the sun would eventually set, and he would once again take on a different hue, no matter what. He was still him, the one who lost the love of his life, his summertime and spring, yet remained emotionless.
If Hansol were still with him, would he still say it was fine?
Meow-
Chan turned towards the sound and landed his gaze on a stray orange cat. Its body was covered in dead leaves and grass, looking adorable.
He crouched down to get as close to its height as he could before mimicking Hansol's sound when playing with cats, gently and carefully stroked its fur. When it didn't show any sign of protest, he carefully moved his hand from its head down its body, smoothly brushing away any debris. The feline looked up at him with clear eyes that reminded Chan of someone he hadn't properly said goodbye to.
It's funny how I thought of Hansol, but I got you instead.
His hand continued to roam over the skinny figure. Chan could feel the warmth of Seungkwan crouching down next to him. He didn't have to look at him to know what expression he was making: a face wearing a smile with eyes that carried the shattered soul for the ten thousandth time. Everything reminded him of a person who had never left his heart.
One.
Or was it really Hansol?
Two.
Please, little one, are you Hansol?
Three.
Four.
Five.
After that, Chan lost count of how many tears had fallen. The first broken, breathless cry since Hansol had left echoed across the hillside by the river. Chan curled up in his arms, hugging the cat as he had wished to do the same for Hansol that night, protecting him from the world. Strangely, the cat didn't panic. Instead, it sat still, allowing the boy to hug and rubbed his face soaked in tears against its fur.
Chan was in so much agony that he screamed in Seungkwan's embrace. The moment he realized Hansol was no longer with him was the moment he wished he could have him back, even if it was in the form of a cat who didn't understand what he was saying. It wasn't that he's doing fine, not at all. He was hurting so much that his body of an eighteen-year-old boy reacting in the opposite way to protect him.
Finally, the sunlight consumed him. The numbness he'd been experiencing for half a month melted into a terracotta-orange liquid, which fell to the ground and onto the cat.
"I miss you—Hansol, I miss you."