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You are seventeen. Your inner world is unimaginably vast that your anchor for human connection is aimless conversation. You understand it makes you too sensitive for a boy.
In front of you is a friend and he is beautiful.
The haunting started on a Tuesday.
Sohee mistook it for a shadow, at first, or the flapping of a curtain. It had been windy that day, and the windows were open when a pale white sheet had followed Chanyoung back to him. He’d just returned the cleaning supplies to the dusty storage room by then, and there wasn’t any discordant piano tune nor a major lead up to, only a record scratch and the meaty thwap of Sohee’s back hitting the wall. Chanyoung had greeted it, which they soon found out was a mistake when it became insistent on joining them. Suppose ghosts needed open doors the way vampires do.
They tried luring it back inside storage, only for it to stick itself between the sliding door and wiggle its way out.
They booked to the nearest exit after. Sohee even slipped on the landing as they were getting away, only for the ghost to pop out behind the Japanese Zelkova by the entrance. While Mrs. Shim mostly been lenient, Chanyoung had a curfew to abide by on weekdays. The short hand pointed at five, and they didn’t have much time left. Much less since his mother prepared something special for dinner. His father was home for once.
Left with no choice, they let it tag along.
Chanyoung thought it was harmless, which was stupid of him. Bait and switches happen all the time. With aliens or the big bad villain reveal at the end of a movie. Sohee had always seen himself as a smart protagonist. Or the final girl. Whatever.
They were standing at a crosswalk, and the light hadn’t turned green yet. A soft breeze lifted the cloak revealing an inch of scrawny calves. Wearing the same green Converse lows that Sohee had on. Fucking creepy.
"I don't think it's out for blood," Chanyoung mumbled, pointing at Sohee's skinned knee. The blood had started flaking then, "It's only following me."
Sohee rubbed the tip of his nose and scuffed the sole of his shoe on gravel. His wound started closing up. Maybe it's that, “Good. I’m not open to joint custody anyway.”
“And for you,” Sohee turned his head to the ghost. “get off me. I’m serious!”
Before they crossed, Chanyoung taught the ghost to look both ways. Sohee leapt to hit the back of his head for it.
It has completely attached itself to Chanyoung, it seems. He shows up the next day, ghost in tow. He calls it Nabi, like some female stray. It’s all for show. Chanyoung had always liked dogs better. Overall, the name could still be a bit more evocative. Wonbin thinks so, too, in addition to telling him that his juvenile interests could’ve cost him his life. All hell to the fundamental rules of hauntings. If anything, he should’ve been dead by now.
Sungchan asks about the logistics of being haunted. Did you share your twin-size bed? Did she follow you to the bathroom? Have you tried contacting a shaman? To which Chanyoung frowns at him.
“I like company,” He whines. He lists three more reasons that Sohee tunes out, “Why get rid of her?” Chanyoung doesn’t even kick away the roly-polys on the sidewalk, even if it gives him the itches. Wonbin, too, but only because it smells like death. Sungchan should’ve known better.
There were concerns at first, walking in a circle so Nabi could hide in the middle. Some non-issue soon to find out. They figured as much when the class square passed by without much of a glance, just the usual turning of his button nose because he’s above childish games.
They brought the ghost to Shotaro, in case it was Japanese. That was a bust, too. It hid behind Chanyoung before Shotaro could ask another question.
“I asked if it was going to hurt us,” Shotaro sighs, “That wasn’t a no.”
“Has anybody asked in Korean?” Eunseok asks. They all look at each other. Sohee tugs at Sungchan’s checkered collar, pointing his head towards the ghost.
Sungchan skimps on the question. They don't blame Nabi when she just stares.
“What if it's American?” Sungchan dumbly asks. They all look at Chanyoung.
“I don’t think so…” Chanyoung rubs his nape. “If she were, I already talked her ears off. If she has ears, I don’t know—you can’t always tell, but I doubt Nabi understood it.”
Sohee kicks his leg with the side of his shoe, “What the hell, man!”
“Nabi was nice. Listened to me ramble through this movie I’m into.” Chanyoung plays with his fingers, looking at her with a light blush on his cheeks. It makes Sohee want to hurl. “I think we connected well. I think a mild reaction to Adam Sandler is a good sign. Most people just roll their eyes.”
Like he cares for Adam Sandler. Who the hell even is he? “That’s hardly any talk.” Sohee shakes his head, wiping his damp palms on his loose slacks. “Raise your hand if you want to get rid of it.”
Wonbin and Eunseok raise their hands while the rest don’t.
“Seriously?”
Chanyoung rubs his forearm. “You know, I don’t hate the idea of having her around. And if the group reached a clean split, then Nabi isn’t going anywhere.”
“Yeah,” Shotaro interrupts, “Nabi is a good outlet. With Chanyoung growing up, I think it’d be ideal if he has a pillar like that.”
“He has us!” Sohee tuts, “He doesn’t need a blankie to figure out his feelings! He looks insane!”
“You look insane,” Sungchan snorted. “Chanyoung-ah, just do what your heart tells you to!”
Sohee is subjected to Sungchan’s advice, Chanyoung spends the entire day with Nabi, holding hands—some development that happened between homeroom and second period.
They leave school behind schedule because Chanyoung had dealings with his subjects credited. He tells Sohee about his transcripts and how the Korean education system resembles that of his highschool in America. He’d been lucky it was an international school. Sohee non-commitally hums, staring at Chanyoung’s nape because walking in threes makes him a shitty pedestrian.
Sohee’s strides lengthen as they head downhill. On the intersection, the speed hump is freshly painted. It’s helpful because a few feet ahead to the right is a house sitting on the bend. The gate protecting it is all scuffed up and dented. Most drivers miss the hump, fucks with the grip before the sharp turn.
It’s funny because Chanyoung points it out, too. With his foot. “They should grind this down.”
“City’s too lazy to secure the area. It’s residential. They have vehicles coming in and out every day.”
“There’s another alley heading the same way, though?”
“Too narrow for SUVs. Like I said, residential, so the cars are as big as it gets.”
“But the house…”
“It’s one family versus the entire neighborhood. Someone’s gotta give.”
“They should advocate for themselves more.” Chanyoung huffs.
“They should probably move out,” Sohee snorts, “It’s bad feng shui anyway.”
For a moment, it’s just them. The grumbling of the orange streetlights flickering on and the grind of the asphalt raveling. Chanyoung goes left, Sohee goes right. That’s just how it goes. Chanyoung waves him off while Nabi snobbishly turns her back to Sohee.
“Teach it manners!”
“You’re doing too much!” Chanyoung mildly says. Beside him, Nabi impatiently stomps on the rocks with the sole of her shoe twice. Sohee sees her Converse and gets the creeps again.
“Don’t forget it was born yesterday!”
“We don’t know that for sure, though!”
“Don’t care! I’ve eaten more rice than that thing.” He gestures to Nabi standing in front of Chanyoung, “If it even eats! I swear it’s like its life source feeds off your kindness!”
“You think I’m nice?”
“And pretty dumb too!” Sohee coos the way his uncles do. “Seriously! I’d better not see that thing tomorrow. Goodbye, Chanyoung-ah. Get home safe!”
Chanyoung’s father has this assortment of cool tech from way back when he was still dating his mom, and while he couldn’t promise his son everything the light touches, he’ll let him borrow one of his camcorders when he comes back from work overseas.
It’s in better shape than the ones they’ve been eyeing in an old bookstore he never got the name of. Years had weathered the signboard into faint, nonsensical shapes. Saw it on their way to the clinic where Sohee’s sister is practicing dentistry. (She has discounts for dental prophylaxis, so they visit often. They were her first patients after all.) Last time they went, Sohee was bargaining with the ahjussi manning the store, Mr. Mo. It didn’t help that he was angry all the time, his daughters worked overseas while his only son, still a student, was a bum who wasn’t interested in running the store after he retired. Said that books were a relic of the past, and his father should just rent out the stall, that way, he’ll get something out of it. No wonder it’s his third year as a senior.
Desperate, Sohee volunteered to watch the store on the weekends, not seeking a menial wage but to work out a deal for the camcorder. Rhinitis, be damned. God knows Chanyoung can’t because how is he going to explain what Sonagi is? He can’t even comprehend the Chosun Ilbo without asking Sohee. Truth is, most sacrifices go in vain, but if it were that easy to ask his father, Sohee wouldn’t have offered. To make him feel better, Chanyoung hung out with him during his shifts. That arrangement extended to Nabi as well.
Three is a crowd for a place like this. The valley of second-hand books shielded sunlight from coming in, arriving merely in patches through the prick holes in the clay roof. The place was also littered with broken appliances Mr. Mo plans to salvage. He was a handyman for forty years until he couldn’t go around Seoul anymore. He then dedicated the latter parts of his years to his truest passions. Still, Mr. Mo tells him, the best moments in his life are when he’s nursing a cigarette in his hand.
Tied to the rafters are yarn and jagged cardboard signs wrapped in clear tape. Prices progressed further into the store, but there’s barely any difference. That was the selling point, if the books on the shelves were cheap, the discount rack was cheaper.
Fine dust merit Sohee geared up throughout the shift. He’s hot in the face with the mask on since he forgot his meds at home, and he’d rather suffer now and have it easy later on. While Chanyoung always had spares in his backpack, Sohee rationed those and deemed them for emergencies only. He wouldn’t count this as one.
Chanyoung is reading in a corner behind the counter where the smell of mildew is the strongest. He says it reminds him of the basement they had in New Jersey.
He still prefers reading English literature because he understands the nuance more, and it pains him to read Korean literature, knowing he’ll be doing a disservice when he finishes a novel only to provide a summary and weak dissertation when Sohee asks, so he’s waiting to get better in Korean. He won’t get any better if he doesn’t try, and the best way to improve is by reading the actual material, Sohee tells him exactly this. He can be his training wheels, offering to explain the context to the best of his capabilities, although he can’t guarantee it will be effective because Chanyoung has always been better at looking inward.
Sticking out of the pages he’s reading is a polaroid of Sohee, obscured and taken at a really bad angle. He sees Chanyoung in it more than he sees himself. Chanyoung told him before that it gets him reading. Get right to it! Read until the day when the waters of the East Sea run dry, and Baekdusan is worn away. Chanyoung tugs at his pant leg and points out a passage he doesn’t understand. Sohee tells him it reads the way it’s intended to. It’s a chapbook. His face scrunches up for that answer.
Across the room is Nabi holding a paperback of dad jokes Sohee had already read. Read it once on his first day, then on occasion when business is slower than its already snail pace.
People rarely come by. A few weekends ago, a couple asked if they could shoot their wedding photos inside the establishment. They were going for a vintage vibe, synonymous with the urban, non-shiny side of marriage. The inspo pics were pretty groovy, but groovy wasn’t worth much. He let them have their fun for a minimum spend of 10,000 won. No haggling. He didn’t tell Mr. Mo the measures he had to take. All he did was present the money and shoot him a polite See you next weekend.
That wasn’t the case most of the time. Their only regular just came in, a boy their age. He propped his backpack by the fan with broken teeth and greeted Sohee with a curt nod. All he did was read, didn’t buy anything, nor hid the fact. He figured early on that Sohee wasn’t paid enough to care. As long as he’d put the books where he got them from, all was peachy-keen.
Chanyoung talked to him once, just to ask if he knew what the Dewey Decimal System was since he looked like an avid reader like himself. Sohee thought it sounded funny. The patron nodded anyway and answered a hesitant Yes, but it’s the Korean Decimal Classification here. No Deweys…
He mostly keeps to himself. Sohee doesn’t do much approaching, never quite his style of making friends. It’s usually the other way around with him. He doesn’t see himself talking to him soon, more than the usual awkward exchange of glances whenever he eyes the porn magazine stack at the end of the narrow aisle. By some miracle he does talk to him, he never expected it to be like this.
Sohee rings him up for the first time in three months. Shuffling his feet, arms propped on the counter, waiting for Sohee to put down the Pokémon binder he’s sifting through. It came with the shipment from Q storage. Mr. Mo talked briefly about it while they were unpacking the stock boxes, said it belonged to an expat who moved back to Australia to sort her Visa. Her belongings sat there unpaid for three months until it was bought by Mr. Mo.
“It’s good what you’re doing—like it’s a pretty fuckin’ sweet gimmick.”
Sohee wipes the dust on his pants, never mind the dirt caked up underneath his nails. He can scrape it off with his teeth later. He tilts his head.
“That.” He turns to Nabi. The moment he does, Nabi sneezes, “Sick…”
The feeling is ineffable at first, sort of like the dip in his stomach before getting pantsed. “You can see that?”
“Yeah.” He snorts roughly. Nabi sneezes again.
It’s pooling his ankles now. Sohee tries to understand the rules of Nabi’s existence, if this is her transition to unwelcome residency in their lives. Showing up in Chanyoung’s life, in their small circle, then bleeding into strangers. He thinks about what kind of monster they let in. He swallows the air in his throat and looks down at the beat-up record booklet on his desk. “What are you getting?”
“This.” He slides the tattered yellow paperback for Sohee to inspect. It still has the dog-ears from his multiple reads, pages with jokes that were amusing enough to pass off as his own. Chanyoung laughed at all of them.
Sohee frowns. “Where’d you get this?”
“The ghost gave it to me.”
“Are you sure you want this? It looks all chewed up.”
“Even better. How much can you knock down the price?”
He’d seen his bike, his backpack. Sohee has an estimate of what they’re worth and what kind of pocket money he has. He scoffs at him, and he even has the gall to laugh.
“Just tell me how much this is.”
Sohee doubles the price in the name of an honest working man.
“Could be less,” He says. He takes out his sleek wallet and pulls out two red bills. A little over the final amount. “but, eh, I’ll take it.”
Sohee touches the sagging ribbing of his sock and pulls it up. “Do you want it in a bag?”
“Nope. You can keep it.”
Sohee doesn’t have to be told twice. He takes the book with his clean hand and shakes his hand with his soiled one. He shoves the book in his bag, and he doesn’t count the change. The coins clink in the glass jar.
“Saw you reading it once. You wouldn’t part with it easily, I think.”
“And the first thing you do is take it away?” Sohee remarks.
He balks, regardless of the tension breaking from the constant sniffling from Nabi behind him. “But I didn’t… so just let me visit now and then. Without buying anything. The older guy tends to snap at me when I only look.”
Sohee doesn’t say much. He just rolls his eyes and pulls his mask down to scratch his nose.
“You’re Sohee, right?”
Behind him, he can see Nabi winding her neck, back, back, at the rate of the buildup in his sternum, going up, up, and up. It’s in his throat now, then his nose,
“Yeah…” Sohee wheezes before feeling violent release when he and Nabi sneeze at the same time.
“I’m Seunghan. I don’t know if she ever mentioned it, but I’m in the same choir as your sister. You stopped attending services.” Hell, like he was paying attention. He went with Sungchan and Eunseok most of the time, only to sleep at the back. His father gave him a lot of shit for it.
“How’s that going?”
“The sermons are still angry.” Nabi lets out two more Seunghan doesn’t care for. Chanyoung peeks over his book in his cubby hole, glancing at Sohee, then Nabi. He knows enough to let Chanyoung interrupt.
“Can I give Nabi your meds?” Chanyoung blinks, hooking his backpack strap to his foot, then folding his leg in one fell swoop. His heel makes a dull sound against his thigh. He sticks one hand inside the front compartment and some incredulous sound comes out of Sohee’s throat.
Seunghan whistles at that. “Yeesh… I’ll see myself out. See you next weekend.”
Ten minutes before his shift ends, he tells Chanyoung not to follow him home. In fact, he permits him not to show up next weekend. He handles the sales well enough, and the period of feeling bad over friends doing favors for each other lasts for a month. In Sohee’s book, at least. Chanyoung doesn’t have anything better to do there than sit in a corner for the most part, and with Nabi catching some viral infection, Sohee makes an executive decision to kick them out. It’s his job. By the power vested in his balls or something. It’ll be the only autonomous move he can make for himself before handing in his notice by the end of the month.
Sohee goes home with a stuffy nose and a migraine, bad juju Nabi pulled to transfer all the ailments that plagued her. He makes a stop at a pharmacy to replenish his supply, buying twice the amount of blister packs because he can’t guarantee Chanyoung won’t give away his stuff anymore.
On his way out, he chugs one pill down with convenience store water from a brand he doesn’t like. It’s infinitely better than the dinky canteen Chanyoung brings. Barely holds a mouthful. It’s pointless, like most of his things are. He probably hadn’t washed it for a week. Sohee thinks about Nabi drinking from it and gags. It’s like he can taste it too.
In class, students talk about the upcoming meteor shower. Sohee ducks his head and listens with half his brain working. Years ago, sometime in August, were the Perseids that came a long way from the constellation Perseus. Enough time has elapsed for it to visit their skies again. Chanyoung is especially excited since it’s his first time seeing solar activity with his own two eyes. Light pollution was terrible where he used to live, so he never had the chance to see it outside media reports. Sohee tells him to be smart about it.
“They had long, colorful tails. My sisters and I watched from a clearing.” Sohee puffs his cheek, wagging his pencil case in Chanyoung’s face. The rest weren’t as lucky in spotting the meteoroids. “Just be strategic with your location. It’s like chasing birds.”
Chanyoung plans to take Nabi and Sohee with him at the crack of dawn, and it’s still something he can’t wrap his head around. This romance with Nabi and being at the crux of it. Everyone seems to have lost their mind but him, egging it on and letting Chanyoung believe there’s a way for this to work. That taking her to dates, walking her home, being with her to the point that he’s bailing on Sohee and the rest of them is anything normal. He has completely deluded himself.
Sohee sucks it up if it means tolerating Nabi will get Chanyoung to listen to him again. Sometimes, he gets extra kind and offers his desk while she waits for them to tidy up as the chore wheel rotates back to them again. Not that she ever asked, but Sohee thinks that she would have. With her sense of entitlement. Over things that are his and Chanyoung.
Chanyoung takes the board while Sohee waters the plants as usual. From his periphery, he watches Chanyoung draw tonal scribbles until the green is barely visible. It makes him tap his foot, tetchy. When he clears his throat to get his thoughts across, it never does.
Despite the room being built to be acoustically sound, he doesn’t hear the pitter-pat of Nabi’s converse moving around. It’s simply something he’ll have to get used to nowadays. She prances her way to Chanyoung, waving the felt erasers in her hands.
Sohee steps on the scoop of the fallen dustpan, pushing it up until the handle satisfyingly thwacks against his palm.
“You’re getting impatient,” Chanyoung laughs. It doesn’t take much for him to. He pats her head before making progress on what they’re there to do in the first place, so there’s that, whatever else.
Wonbin joins them shortly, just a little after Sohee mopped up the water that seeped through the plastic pots. Track practice ended a while ago. Sohee tells him the freckles on the back of his neck are getting darker. Wonbin dreads it’s some form of melanoma. He says he’ll get it checked. Eunseok’s dad is a doctor anyway.
The rest join them after. Shotaro made plans, and it’s hard to say no because of how touchy-feely he gets. They’re looking at an uninspired hang-out itinerary of, by and large, walking and dicking around. The weather is great, he’ll give him that. He knows a spot, just a cliffside field that overlooks the coastline. The West Coast isn’t very attractive, though. The water isn’t clear, and it’s mostly utilized as a shipping route heading to the port of Incheon. Makes the area duller for what it is. Could’ve been a boardwalk. He doesn’t interject. It’s the polite thing to do.
Nabi still cartoonishly emotes at the sound of that. Sohee was happy with walking, but now he isn’t.
The clouds have completely blocked out the sun on their hike, making it darker than usual for late afternoon. All there are are fields of gray blades and clumps of fountain grass until a concrete tunnel about half the size of their gym peeks from a distance. It makes Sohee run.
“There used to be a hill next to it,” Eunseok heaves after arriving dead last, he was barely trying anyway. Sohee had led them uphill to a trimmed patch to sit in. It’ll be good for Wonbin’s horrible knees, they can sit there until he recuperates. “got rid of it to make way for a Kyeryong residential project. Binned it a few years ago because it was taking a while—the condominium chain that commissioned them had loan troubles with the bank, and the bank suffered from bureaucratic bloat, PICs kept changing and changing, and the project kept on getting passed from one phony position to another. Eventually, the salt water got through the foundations. Made it too brittle for construction.”
“Do you know where they moved?” Chanyoung’s voice comes out squeaky and noticeably louder. But maybe it’s because he hasn’t sat this close to him since Nabi came along.
“Nah.”
“What a waste,” Shotaro butts in, thumbing on a bud by his left elbow. “Aeri says it floods here often. Gets really muddy when it rains, they have to block the road.”
“I think you made that up,” Sungchan says.
Shotaro points at himself, eyes wide. Sungchan shakes his head and points at Eunseok. Monostome, the shit that comes out of his mouth.
“Maybe,” Eunseok’s face is unreadable. “Some parts of it.”
“Which one?”
“It’s all hearsay. I heard my aunts talk about it back in middle school. Her job was big with land reclamation, and with Incheon just around the corner, it was within distance of concern. They wanted the coast for a shopping mall.”
“That one?” Sohee pushes himself on his knees to point at the body of water beside the cluster of houses rocks below. When he squints, he can see the school from here. One new angle to look at. When he tries to sit back down, he can feel the press of bird bones beneath him. In a blink, Nabi is in his spot, one-fifty thread count and all, hand-cut eyeholes frayed and yellowing, staring at him.
“Jesus, dude!” Sohee jerks, accidentally stepping on the blanket, it tugs back on Nabi’s face when she tries to pull away. They all flinch when they see an outline of a nose.
Shotaro shoots everyone a look, and they all agree not to dwell on it.
Chanyoung scoots over to brush the dirt off Nabi. He looks at them with puppy eyes, “Sorry. I think Nabi’s uneasy with the environment and all. New terrain, so…”
“Likewise.” Sohee sticks a thumb at himself. “You should’ve left it home.”
“Yeah, because someone’s been acting like a bitch ever since he got replaced.” Wonbin is sitting with his legs outstretched, his shoelace loose. Eunseok must’ve gotten to them first. Or maybe it’s been like that before the tunnel, before they’ve passed the motorcade near the regional office handling Incheon waters. He should’ve tripped for that.
Sohee points at the shoe. When Wonbin bends forward to tie it, Sohee grabs his head and teabags him.
“Oh, fuck off!”
Just like that, Nabi doubles over, clutching her stomach, in her own parody of what human laughter looks like. Everybody sits stock-still but Chanyoung who is giggling and leaning into Nabi, because, of course, he is.
“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up!” Wonbin hisses.
“I didn’t know she could do that…”
“Me neither,” Sungchan settles with his head tilted to the side. He even looks at Sohee when he says, “Didn’t expect her to be so childish. Maybe that’s why they get along so well.”
“Whatever.” Sohee picks at the scab on his knee again. It’s a darker shade of brown now. “I blame all of you when he dies.”
Sungchan whistles to get Chanyoung’s attention. Is he lining up flowers in Nabi’s eyeholes? What a psycho. Chanyoung turns in the midst of slotting another one in. “Chanyoung-ah, you’ll take responsibility when it all goes sideways, right?”
“What?”
“When you—” Sungchan makes a choking gesture before pointing at him, then Nabi. Chanyoung, in response, blinks so hard he gains another set of eyelids.
Sungchan turns back to Sohee, “Did everything I could. Can’t tell me I didn’t warn him.”
“What do we know? We’re stupid fleshies.”
Wonbin stumbles on the walk back while the rest descend steadily. Sohee tongues at the skin in his mouth raised from relief from biting his cheek too much and marches his way down. There’s too much zip to him, always running towards some goal, some tunnel. The route becomes more and more familiar by the time they’re nearing the city centre homestretch, Sohee doesn’t feel the need to look when he skips across the intersection. Vehicles are rare around these parts, and if some happen to pass by, it’ll be difficult not to spot. He can hear Wonbin nag over the horn of the empty 6020 bus heading towards the main terminal—they’re planets away and Sohee thinks of dinner.
It's drone silence when he gets to the other side. He pivots his heel, eager to see the distance between them, only to realize Nabi had been there all along.
Ten feet away, Chanyoung is all tense mustering a tell-off, the best he could, to look both ways before crossing. It’s something not to forget, he adds. Nabi completely ignores him and points at Sohee’s feet.
He tumbles back when Nabi begins pulling on the mitered corner he stepped on. Makes him wonder if fabric to Nabi is what skin is to Sohee. Out of habit, Sohee apologizes, which Nabi shrugs off. It makes him want to take it back, but he doesn’t. This pointless hostility is tiring him out. Nabi might have her reasons to act out. Sohee does too. When they both wave Chanyoung off, Sohee thinks they’re not so different after all.
Mr. Lee came home after a month working in the US. Chanyoung says his current stint is on composing for an animated short to be screened at TIFF. Work isn’t done yet. Mr. Lee just had to take a quick trip home to fetch special equipment, and the reason for the extended timeline was that he often butted heads with his co-composer over the score. Chanyoung denoted the creative differences a language barrier issue, but Sohee has a feeling Chanyoung doesn’t understand the scale of his projects and the fight itself. There’s an NDA involved, Chanyoung wasn’t supposed to know and shouldn’t be telling him this in the first place. It doesn’t matter if he heard it via a call between his parents, the pressing issue for him is that there’s no way he’s mistaken. His mother, Chanyoung explains, believes that French doesn’t translate well into Korea’s hierarchical politeness, and the guy was like 24.
Above all else, he has the camcorder. Mr. Lee handed it in before heading back. Kept it locked in storage somewhere Chanyoung can’t get to. It’s how fathers operate. Sohee’s father doesn’t let him get his grubby hands on his Taekwon V figurines, either. Keeps it behind a glass case.
That wasn’t the end of Chanyoung’s trials with the camcorder, however. Nabi has found interest and hasn’t let go of it since. Nothing gets through Chanyoung, even being told he’s a pushover to his face. He wouldn’t worry about it, he says, Nabi can make it up to him after. Whatever that implies. Sohee rolls his eyes.
She has infiltrated the friend group. Sohee tells Chanyoung that while she’s distracted. He also tells him that Nabi is a detriment to their friendship in a way that makes him not want to die from embarrassment, “Nabi is annoying.”
Chanyoung laughs in his face first before pausing, “Wait, are you serious?” He gnaws on his lower lip, “I thought it was playful.”
Sohee makes a small frustrated sound, “To who? Nabi has never taken me seriously.”
“The way you do with her?”
“Yes, the way I do with her.” Sohee tuts.
“And you want Nabi to take you seriously the way she does with me?”
“Gross. Why would I want her that way?”
Chanyoung pauses to think, “Because she’s thoughtful?”
Sohee rubs his palm on his face, “In what way? How does she have this quality when you haven’t seen that from her? She doesn’t even speak her mind.”
“I mean.” Chanyoung shrugs. “It’s not that different from you, isn’t it?”
“What the hell does that mean?” Sohee scowls. “And what does that have to do with me? You like this ghost.”
Chanyoung thinks deeply to himself. It’s like he’s gone for a second. “Well, yeah.”
They’re by an old playground, and Nabi is chasing Shotaro with the camcorder for some reason. Sohee tries not to think too hard about it, swinging to and fro, pushing himself with his heel. The swing is too squeaky. Needs lubricant. “The problem is, I think this Nabi thing is not gonna end well. You don’t know her well enough to be this committed, and you’re blinded by this irrational affection for her to the point that you can’t see the threat of it all. For starters, you don’t know what she looks like.”
Chanyoung whispers, knees elevated to his stomach. He barely fits on the swing, “I’m not going to lift her veil! That’s crazy.”
Sohee motions to his eyes, “I wasn’t asking you to peek under her skirt like a perv! She has two holes in her face.”
“You want me to do that?”
Sohee draws himself back on the pendulum, “Isn’t it killing you?”
“No. It’s scary. Why should I?”
“So, what. You’re settling with dancing around things?” In some fashion, it gets through Chanyoung. He purses his lip and emptily looks at the ground. There’s nothing but playsand. Sohee lifts his leg off the ground and he launches, full swing.
“This works, though?”
“I wouldn’t count on it,” His words come out as gasps from all the airtime he’s getting, “and you shouldn’t be saying things definitively. Next thing you know, she eats you in your sleep or brings you to a second location.”
“Then why does it matter if I know what she looks like or not? I’m getting killed either way.”
“You’re right. It’s your choice. But for all I care. You love a good personality, anyway.”
“Stop it!” Chanyoung exasperates.
“I’m just saying, man! She won’t have anything to hide if she wasn’t hideous.”
Sohee feels the full stop in his lungs. Chanyoung is standing over him, rusty chain gripped tightly in his fist. Still, he never looks angry. “Alright. If it gives you peace.”
That night, Chanyoung sends him a simple I did it. I looked.
It takes Sohee two hours to respond. He lets Naruto Shippuden play while he brushes his teeth until it rolls over to the next episode that he has to bring his clunky laptop to the kitchen because he didn’t realize how hungry he was. He eats with half his palette working and Totsugeki Rock playing, mouthing the opening under his breath as he’d memorized it from all his rewatches of Rodo tu Ninja. He brings Naruto with him to knock on his mother’s door and tell her goodnight, then to his bed, where he flops down just as Sasuke gets his ass kicked by Itachi.
He replies to Chanyoung while Itachi tortures Sasuke with his genjutsu. “What did you see?”
He reads the message unfairly quick. Sohee feels a little bit bad for leaving him hanging. Must’ve been hideous what’s under there. The speech bubble inflates and deflates a couple of times. By the time his phone chimes to a new message, the Sound Four had already gotten into Sasuke’s head.
“I’m not entirely sure either,” It says. Anton has the core attitude of an arrow, a straight shot, and never second-guesses. The most sure he has ever been in recent memory was Nabi. That’s the thing with him and his pursuit of happiness. Sohee doesn’t know how to make sense of this.
Mr. Mo has the piety to close this Sunday. Service for an old peer. He said they worked together for more than a decade but lost communication throughout the years. He was constantly in his thoughts, regardless. The older you get, the smaller the world becomes, he says. It’s lonely, but it’s a matter of aging and you spend most of it thinking about people you don’t talk to anymore. It scares Sohee. He doesn’t want Chanyoung to be one of those people, putting aside all the shit he’d done up to this point. He takes the thought with him on his way to Chanyoung’s house, all sticky from summer’s peak.
The door to his shoebox room is open, and so are his windows. The hood of the white car parked outside reflects much of the heat in, it’s like an oven upon entry. He finds Chanyoung on his bed and Nabi on his study desk. They aren’t talking. Not that they initially could, but Chanyoung has the tendency to put things out there. Nabi is a good sponge. He always says that.
Wordlessly, Nabi, with her socks rolled down her heel, glides past and out the door.
“Does your mom see—”
“I don’t know,” Chanyoung pulls his pillow close to his chest. His bangs are sticking to his forehead. “We don’t talk about it.”
Chanyoung asks him why he wasn’t at the book shop. Sohee tells him the whole ordeal. He makes a sour face before asking him why he hadn’t tagged along. It’s a private matter, Sohee shrugs, that and the list of visitors was pretty cut out. He never likes overstepping.
He takes the same approach when he sits at the foot of his bed. The mattress dips under his weight, and he tugs Chanyoung’s leg. When he pulls his leg back, Sohee comes with it. He gives him a small smile. It makes him feel a little better about the entire situation. Less embarrassed about his insistence and why it was so important to him in the first place.
“We’re good?” Sohee asks.
Chanyoung raises two thumbs. “Just a lot to take in. Go figure.”
But he can’t. Sohee snorts and plays with the loose threads on his bed quilt. Nothing follows.
Junyoung meddles just as Chanyoung was warming up. He has to borrow him for a while. Homework stuff. The instructions are confusing, he always gets his sentence structures mixed, and the heat is making it worse. Junyoung whines, he wishes he were in New Jersey right now. Sohee wonders if Chanyoung wants that too.
There’s nothing to do in his room while he waits. Chanyoung has a guitar with loose strings hanging on the wall. Sohee doesn’t know how to tune one. Wonbin usually does it for him. Beside it is a mounted shelf for his Gundams. Sohee flips one around and perks its butt before moving to something else.
He wonders what Nabi is doing in the midst of it. If she has an inkling that it was Sohee’s idea to view her for what she truly is. Maybe she’s in the other room too, fuming, telling Chanyoung off in whatever way she can. Sohee presses his ear against the wall and closes his eyes for a second. He can hear Chanyoung’s faint voice reading something over and over. Junyoung asks him what it means. They both don’t know.
Steps, heavy but gentle, pattering and pattering until it's gone. His eyes shoot open when he hears the creak of the door hinge. Sohee finds his way behind the curtain, body tense when it opens to the view of the hallway. He feels hot air push under his shirt and thinks of a hand.
Chanyoung calls out, measured and clipped, “Nabi?”
Sohee pulls the curtain back and bares his teeth sheepishly, “It’s just me.”
Nabi left with the perseids one early August morning. It had happened so quickly and decisively that there wasn’t anything to do that could stop it.
It’s a surprising turn of events. Days prior, Nabi had acted as if she was going to stay for good, just as Sohee was getting around the fact. He’d finally made amends after the constant push and shove. Chanyoung asked him to, so genuinely. It was going somewhere, he said, and he’d like it if Sohee could make peace with her. It’s unfair. Looking back. They shook hands over it.
Instead, she shot up the sky in a flash of orange light before five am, dispersing into glowing iron smithereens along with the meteoroids. She took her leave with resolve, took it with disregard, letting everything blow up in Sohee’s face, and making him clean her messes. Chanyoung had cried in his arms like a small child.
They scrubbed through the footage in the middle of the grass clearing—the shower hadn’t ended by then. They looked for clips where Nabi should be present, but weren’t. It was completely clean of her memory. A way to say nothing personal. Something like that.
Chanyoung sobbed harder, knees buckled from his gravity center thrown off-kilter. It’s brutal.
They broke the news to the rest of them the same morning. Sungchan and Shotaro looked guilty after. To a certain extent, it felt like it was their fault since they had encouraged Chanyoung. Doesn’t matter that there weren’t ill intentions behind it. There was nothing else to say but sorry. Sohee should feel vindicated, but he doesn’t.
He spends the following days thinking about the precedent of her leave, the precedent of Nabi. It plays like an analog supercut of July. Sohee thinks about walking in threes, eating elbow-to-elbow, and the squeeze of being at the center of all of this. The rest eventually move on with their lives. Even Chanyoung. Ironically, Sohee doesn’t.
Sohee still thinks of Nabi on windier days. He doesn’t know if it’s on impulse or if he simply refuses to move past it. There are pieces remaining that need to be put back together. The sinuosity of his thoughts. How does he navigate through it? Why does he feel responsible for it all?
After weeks of mulling it over, he realizes he needs a distraction. Sohee squashes the idea of leaving the bookstore eventually. While he has his intentions, he also figured the old man needed company more than he’d like to admit, more than having someone help run the bookstore.
For his first project, Sohee convinces Mr. Mo to get some signage up for the onlookers. Fashion some scrap plywood from his workshop and paint it black. Chanyoung swears he’ll take care of the calligraphy. It’s his pledge as the new recruit. They get to work the moment Mr. Mo hands the board, and it comes out nifty.
Sohee hisses when Chanyoung drags a soda can against his neck. They’ve finished cleaning up the supplies while waiting for the chalk to dry. He mumbles a cheeky sorry before opening the can for Sohee to drink and wiping his neck after with the back of his hand.
Chanyoung may have told him once or twice, neither in solid writing, to view the memories positively. Sohee wasn’t even happy when it was happening, what makes him think he can do that? It’s just awful bitterness, a little short on the apathy he once had. He wishes to stop feeling like this. He knows he’ll think about it for a long time.
He can’t stop himself from asking Chanyoung, though. At night, Sohee thinks about how he looked Nabi in her eyeholes and just peered in there. The short gap between them because anything farther would give him nothing remotely close to an answer. At least, that’s how it played out in his head, “You never told me what you saw.”
Chanyoung stops before he can take another sip, “Is that why you’re hung up?”
Sohee stops thinking about their faces touching. Or Chanyoung looking down her shirt. God, he makes everything sound horrible. “Forget it. Don’t mind me.”
“I'll tell you someday. In three years. Maybe.” Chanyoung says, mind made up, “It’s not linear, you know. Moving on. What makes it harder for me is knowing I’m moving farther from it. From… Nabi. I don’t have a choice, do I? Do we?”
Sohee shrugs. He lets Chanyoung do the talking while he wallows over his soda.
“I didn’t understand it at first. Heck, I don’t even understand it until now. Having something good, having that illusion break, then realizing you can’t have it...”
“What makes you think you can’t have it?”
Chanyoung slowly comes to a realization, “You’re right. I just can’t have it… yet.”
Sohee purses his lips, eyes squinting, “Well, what makes you think you can have it now?”
“I’m in control of my actions, y’know. We all are. Maybe if I put in all the work, a bit of elbow grease, and I don’t know. Courage? I can have it.” His tone pitches higher.
“Taking into account that you might fail?”
“Is it bad that I don’t think about that?” Chanyoung zones in on his face, enough to see right through him, “Everything works out for me. Just gotta look at it from a different viewpoint.”
“Plus, I have a feeling about something too.” Chanyoung adds. Sohee sizes up what it’s worth. “So I’m not worried as much as I should be.”
Sohee lifts his shoulders and shakes his head. He reaches a conclusion. Don’t make a big deal out of it.
“Sorry,” Chanyoung sniffs, “I got a little bit negative there.”
“Don’t be. Spiral with me.”
Chanyoung bursts into a fit of giggles, then eases into one short favor, “But when I do tell you, promise me you won’t get scared.”
He sticks his pinky up to Sohee’s face like a child. He swats it away and scoffs, “I’m not a pussy.”
They check if the design has fully set. After doing a test swipe, they bring the stand outside, kicking its legs to face different angles. Chanyoung backs away, moving back and forth to see what looks the best.
When they find the right look, Chanyoung softly smiles at him, standing on the side of his feet, hands in his pockets. “The storefront looks more intentional now.”
Sohee agrees.
“Thank you for not pushing the subject.”
The skin on Sohee’s brow bone wrinkles. He scratches his nose and taps the stand to face a little more to the left. He doesn’t look at him. “I’ll pry it out of you one day.”
“I know you will.”