Supernova { Part VII } { Final }
Title: Supernova
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: XiuHan
Length: approx. 57,000 words.
Summary: Kim Minseok, a Music Composition major at SNU and writer for the student music entertainment magazine, Jjang!, has his predictable life turned upside-down when he meets the notorious Chinese Hallyu singing sensation, Lu Han; a new student to SNU attempting to clear his tainted image.
There were two eras in Minseok's life; pre-Lu Han and post-Lu Han; and the moment those two ages collided was the pivoting force that aligned every instant of his existence.
Until the end.
{ PROLOGUE } { PART I } { PART II } { INTERMISSION I } { PART III } { PART IV }
{ INTERMISSION II } { PART V } { PART VI } {PART VII } { EPILOGUE }
Part VII - Rebirth
January 2012
Bzzp, bzzp.
Minseok sighed and pulled his head back from the computer screen. His eyes were burning like hell and everything was blurry and spinning from staring at his essay for too long but he could just make out Jongdae’s name flashing up on the phone vibrating next to him on the table.
“What’s up, doc?” He expertly cradled his mobile between his ear and shoulder, now staring at his work from an angle.
“I’ve left some stuff in your inbox, stuff I want you to review for the next issue.”
“And you rang me to tell me that?” he asked with a chuckle, double-clicking on the internet and typing the web address for his university email. “I’m flattered that you wanted to hear my voice, truly…”
“Just read it already,” came Jongdae’s voice with a sigh. Minseok could imagine him perched at his desk in the office, running his tired hands through his hair from fatigue as his glasses slid mercilessly down his nose. He always spent far too much time in that damn room.
He scanned the screen and his jaw fell limply open. “You little fu-” Jongdae’s laugh then echoed down the line with satisfaction. “A Pink, T-ARA and…Lu Han? Are you serious? Do you seriously hate me that much?”
“I knew you’d love it - just looking out for my favourite writer!”
“So that’s why you rang me, to witness my misery? I couldn’t give a damn about any of these people!”
“Oh, I’ll be sure to tell Lu Han that if I ever meet him in person.”
“Funny. Real funny, Jongdae.” Minseok groaned and exhaled a harsh breath. “Fine. Let me just get this essay finished and I’ll get started on this hell.”
“That’s the spirit, hyung!”
He was used to it by now, of course; reviewing albums that made his ears bleed was part of the job. This was the kind of thing students wanted to read about - airbrushed idols styled with perfect hair and painted with perfect smiles and performing to the same electronic beat over and over. But it won the awards at the end of the day, and that’s what mattered. Screw the real artists with genuine talent and poetry in their music who barely ever made it into the top 5 at music shows. Nobody under the age of 30 was interested in them.
Still, something possessed him to type Lu Han’s name into the search engine that evening.
But within seconds he shook his weary head and closed the window.
He just didn’t care.
*
April 2012
He never would have thought that barely 3 months later things would turn out very differently.
Because now Minseok cared too much.
He cared that the pale, delicate face had only stared back at his own with genuine unknowing and even fear. He cared that someone like Kim Jongin, cold and poisonous, was welcomed within sight of the star’s light and warmth while he was cursed to walk in the shadows. He cared that he didn’t matter anymore.
But he didn’t care that it was raining very much.
His legs were moving of their own accord, leading him through the automatic doors and out into the rippling crowd of puddles gathering on the concrete to soak through his shoes. The heavens had opened with their own teal-hued symphony in mourning of the future he’d deluded himself into believing in; the one where he had Lu Han and he was happy. So much for that bittersweet illusion. So much for taking a second out of his reality to actually dream.
The vultures had woken from their lethargic haze, moving like hungry blurs at the edge of Minseok’s vision as they frantically prepared their cameras. The arrival of the suit must’ve sparked their shallow interests and reminded them of their destructive purpose in life. Good for them. At least they had one.
He hadn’t bothered lifting his hood up to protect his hair, but one of the small parts of him that was still awake and functioning regretted that decision as one of the reporters watched him walk past and nudged his colleague in the ribs, whispering:
“Wait-…isn’t that-?”
Minseok dug his chin into his chest, eyes down, and quickened his pace, but the vulture had caught the scent of fresh meat and ran to catch up with him brandishing a voice recorder.
“Hey! Hey! You’re that Kim Minseok kid, right? Lu Han’s loverboy? Is he awake? Is that why the management turned up? We haven’t seen much of you, have you been visiting? Do you still love him? Do you forgive him? Do you regret that night at the club, huh? Hey!”
By this point, the stumpy reporter was having to half-jog to keep up and eventually he fell behind, defeated by Minseok’s silence and loudly cursing his failure.
He walked straight past the bus stop, and carried on straight. His clothes were already soaked through and weighing down against his skin. His teeth chattered, but he just kept walking.
It was a good thing it was raining; the drops melded with his tears and hid his pain from the rest of the world.
He made it back to his apartment block so cold that his bones were chilled, but it was a welcome distraction. Until someone called out.
“Oppa?”
Jung Minah stood, hovering, by the porch. The empty space on the wall where her fanboard had once been stuck leered back in contempt, but Minseok tried to keep his eyes off it. He dreaded to wonder what she must think.
“They-…they say he woke up,” she uttered in a tiny voice, picking at the sleeve of her coat as her words almost drowned in the falling water. “Did he? Is it true?”
Minseok swallowed and bobbed his head only slightly. “Yes. It’s true. He woke-” But something caught in his throat, rendering his tongue stiff.
“Then…why aren’t you together?”
He clenched his teeth together until his gums hurt, fighting the urge to completely snap in two.
Because there’s no such thing as a happy ending.
“Just…go home, Minah,” he managed to croak, turning his head away and fishing for the set of keys in his pocket. His fingers were so numb they could barely feel the metal, and they trembled from the cold as he threw the key into the lock and slammed the door behind him, void of any regret.
Inside his apartment, Minseok’s limbs continued to steer his soul on autopilot. He kept his eyes forward with invisible blinkers and headed straight to the bedroom to fling his aching body onto the bed. Even the softness of the quilt felt as though it bruised every inch of him, and he curled into foetal position to feebly protect the raw parts left unsalted.
Only, those three words continued to scroll behind his closed lids in silent mockery.
Why…would…I?
It wasn’t fair, What did he do to deserve those memories eating him up inside? Why was it the star that earned the privilege of forgetting?
It just…wasn’t fair…
And he dwelled on that thought as he fell into an uneasy slumber, biting down on the comforter and sobbing his fragile heart out until the sun came up.
*
It wasn’t the first time Minseok had woken to the sound of a stranger rattling his front door open, so it didn’t faze him much as he wearily blinked his puffy eyelids and rolled over with a groan to bend the pillow over his ear. When it finally dawned him that someone else was inside his apartment, he immediately sat up and a voice rang out.
“Hyung? Hyung, are you in?”
Minseok quickly flung his legs over the edge of the bed, sliding on his slippers, and patted down his body to make sure he was wearing an appropriate amount of clothing. He could feel his eyes were still swollen from the night before and a quick glance in the mirror confirmed his fears of very obvious red bags. There wasn’t much he could do now except fluff his long fringe in front of his face in a meagre attempt to cover them up and linger apprehensively in the doorway.
“Jongdae…what are you doing here?” he asked hoarsely.
“Oh, there you are. You left your stuff at the hospital yesterday.” Jongdae, loitering by the entrance, heaved a guitar case and backpack from his shoulder on to the sofa. “I rang you about a hundred times but you didn’t answer so I went to there to try to find you but-” His voice cut short and he wrung his hands together in front of him.
“Thank you,” said Minseok, forcing a smile.
Jongdae took a few tentative steps forward, staring intently into Minseok’s face. “You have to tell me what happened.”
Minseok averted his eyes, nudging the edge of the carpet with his foot. “What do you mean?”
“Hyung,” he sighed. “Don’t treat me like I’m an idiot. It’s not fair.”
Minseok stole a hesitant breath. The words were hard to find, as though they were stuck to the far back of his throat, out of reach for his tongue.
“Lu Han woke up and…”
Pause.
“And…?” asked Jongdae eagerly.
I didn’t exist to him anymore.
“He…didn’t want to see me.”
“Oh, hyung…”
Minseok looked up from the floor and met Jongdae’s eyes, shining and filled with sympathy. The editor walked closer, arms awkwardly outstretched, and Minseok slipped himself between them. Jongdae held him close, patting his back slightly and it only made the tears brew, but he kept them reined in. As best he could, anyway.
He pulled back, quickly wiping under his eyelashes in case one escaped. “So, you went there, to the hospital? Did you see…?”
Jongdae shook his head. “No. He’s been moved to a different ward, I don’t know where. The nurses had stowed your things behind the counter.”
“I see…”
To that, Jongdae thinned his lips and nodded decisively, then he turned around and walked back to the front door.
“Wait, where are you going?”
He halted in the door frame. “To buy junk food. Girls do that when they’re depressed over a break up, right? They buy tonnes of ice cream and stuff and watch ridiculous movies. That’s what we’re going to do. It’ll be fun, don’t look at me like that.”
Minseok wasn’t sure what to say to that. “I-…you’re ridiculous!”
“I know!” Jongdae called back as he disappeared down the hallway.
When he returned, arms laden with goodies, Minseok dragged his quilt from the bedroom into the living area and the two of them shuffled underneath, hugging the corners and setting up a little food and drink nest between them. Just as Minseok had predicted, Jongdae had come back with not only a six pack and half a shop’s worth of sugar to rot away his insides but with a cheesy American romantic comedy slotted in his grasp. The subtitles were questionable and the toffee popcorn stuck his teeth together but it was surprisingly therapeutic having the editor there to distract him from his rogue thoughts. Minseok didn’t say much during the film in fear of setting off some kind of emotional vomit but roughly an hour into the movie, he allowed his lips to form just a few words.
“I only knew him for 5 minutes.”
Jongdae’s hand found his under the covers and their fingers squeezed together. "Sometimes it’s the minutes that mean the most.”
*
Normality was a foreign concept but something Minseok desperately tried to achieve. Although that was a little difficult when the only thing stopping you was a famous pop star that everyone felt the need to discuss on a daily basis, much to his dismay.
He heard whispers of a Japanese debut and a showcase in Tokyo pushed back to the end of the month because of the star’s diminished health…but that was all he had the strength to hear. The rest he tried to delete as best he could. Any mention of Lu Han’s name was enough to make his stomach twist with agony and chest ache from the loss, and he kicked himself mentally every time he let it get to him.
In an attempt to block it all out, Minseok threw himself into his studies and song writing. People had stopped staring at him so much by this point but he still felt the need to hide himself away in the music department until the early hours, translating his inner-anguish into the sound of a piano and musical notes scribbled on a page. It was therapeutic and calming and even Chanyeol came to join him a few times out of his newly busy schedule. He was grateful for the company.
Although Minseok knew the real reason he was there; Jongdae was worried about him and probably suggested to the others that leaving him alone for so long was a bad idea. He meant well, and perhaps he was right. He even came down himself, bringing coffee and a supportive smile down from the office to help Minseok through the night and fuel his creativity. The editor tried to hint as delicately as he could at the Lu Han article that the magazine had promised its readers which was in dire need of being written, and Minseok heard him. He just chose to ignore it.
Music was healing what writing the star’s name would surely bruise again.
Until he was home, that is. Being alone in his apartment meant his mind roamed and he’d only end up doing things he’d later regret, like curling up in his bed reading the astronomy book he’d swore to hide away but never could. He’d feel the strings of his efforts to push this part of his life aside unravel in front of him as he scanned page after page of nebulae and quasars and extrasolar planets. Lu Han had been right; the mysterious things out there in the universe really did help you to appreciate the beauty of everything, even when you’d lost hope in it.
But his real test came on a cloudy Tuesday.
The wind had picked up, sending his hair in all kinds of directions, so he slid a beanie on top in an attempt to control it. He was almost home now, where he could strip out of his jeans and throw on his pyjamas and perch on the sofa with a bowl of instants noodles in front of pointless daytime television. He rounded the corner, picking up his pace, when he saw it.
The Mercedes.
It suddenly felt as if time itself had stopped. There it was - Lu Han’s car, sat roaring on the side of the road outside his home.
…Lu Han?
He strode forward, not wanting to believe what he was seeing for a single second, and then the door opened and he gasped in anticipation.
But it wasn’t Lu Han who stepped out.
It was a tall, thick man in a suit.
*
He’d actually flinched from the pain of the disappointment that had sunk to the depths of his abdomen. For one heart-breaking moment he’d actually expected Lu Han to be stood where this strange man was standing, the same man he’d seen at the hospital, he realised.
He silently cursed the universe for being so cruel.
The suited man marched up to him confidently. “Let’s go indoors and talk, shall we?”
Minseok was hesitant but complied all the same. He had a feeling whatever this man was going to say, he wasn’t going to like it one bit.
Once inside his home, Minseok offered the man a seat but he shook his head.
“No, thank you, I won’t be staying,” he rumbled as his judging gaze surfed the interior of Minseok’s apartment, screwing up his nose slightly.
Minseok bit the inside of his cheek. “I’m sorry but…who are you?”
“I work for SM Entertainment as Lu Han’s manager, that’s all you need to know.” He cleared his throat. “I am here today in the hope that the two of us could come to a certain…understanding.”
Minseok eyed him apprehensively. “Which would be…?”
The suit’s hands met in front of his chest, fingertips together. “What happened to Lu Han with the accident was…very unfortunate, indeed - I’m sure you’ll agree. However, it also gives us the opportunity to start afresh somewhat. The incident photographed on the bridge for everyone to see, for example…” His voice suddenly became stern and cold. “That won’t be happening again. Neither will any other event where the two of you were together. As you already know, Lu Han suffered some relatively serious damage to his head from the fall and, as a result, he has no recollection of the last couple of months. Including you.”
Ouch. That definitely hurt.
“I would hate for anything embarrassing on your part to come out of this, and the health of our artists comes as a top priority. The company have gone to extensive means to remove the evidence of your time together to save Lu Han any further…distress. It is, also, imperative, in that case, that you are not permitted to talk to or even attempt to contact Lu Han under any circumstances. No legal action will be used against you to achieve this but do not think we won’t resort to it if you do not comply with our needs, Mr Kim.”
His thin lips tilted. “Let us consider this recovery from a few moments of temporary madness, perhaps. I do hope you can understand. So, Mr Kim, have we come to our understanding?”
All Minseok could do was bob his head as the truths sank painfully through his skin.
“Good. I will take my leave, then,” said the suit, walking around Minseok’s still frame to the doorway.
Until he managed to unstick his throat. “He’ll break away from you some day, you’ll see.” Minseok turned, talking directly into that calculative face. “You can’t hold him like that forever.”
The suit smirked, professional façade fading. “Watch me.”
And clicked the door behind him.
*
“Just pull up over here? On the right?”
The taxi driver met Minseok’s eyes in the rear-view mirror and nodded, flicking his indicator.
He’d tried to his best ability to remember the way to the spot by the bridge, despite how much it hurt to clench his eyes shut and picture everything from that night. He’d hoped the grains of that memory had already fallen through the wavering cracks but, as he’d already experienced, life wasn’t as kind as that; he could remember, clear as the sky in the morning, the taste of the cool night air on his cocktail-infused tongue, the blades of grass tickling his arms, the aroma of hairspray that dispersed from Lu Han’s hair as he ran his fingers over it to calm his tears. There was nothing he could do but accept the pain caused by the memories tattooed onto the fleshy surface of his subconscious. The ink ran deep, and that was that. There was, however, one more level of near-sanity he could achieve.
Closure.
If one good thing could come out of the burly suit’s unpleasant visit, this was it.
And this was what fueled Minseok to step out of that taxi cab near the end of the bridge, slipping notes with shaking fingers through the window and watching it drive away, back into the city.
Soon he was just a boy walking alone across the grassy bank, following the smell of the river and the pull of his heart with hands tucked deep into his coat pockets and eyes to the floor. He didn’t dare look up at the glowing skyline, not yet. It wasn’t time yet.
When he reached the top of the hill, panting a little from the walk, the punch of nostalgia against his chest hit him harder than he expected, no matter how slowly he looked up, and his knees shook. It was just as he had left it - that canvas of hundreds of lights still shone just as brightly over the water. If he squinted, the cluster of glowing dots really looked like a golden milky way through the gaps of his eyelashes.
I like to come here sometimes…to pretend the city lights are like the stars…
The voice rang through his head as loud as if it the words were spoken directly into his ear.
Jongdae hadn’t been entirely right about everything; it wasn’t just a breakup, although he didn’t know any different. With a breakup you can comfort the burning sear in the middle of your heart with the thought that somewhere, even if it’s only for a second, the one you lost could still be thinking about you, and loving you, and even wanting you back.
Minseok didn’t have that illusion to cushion the blow.
Because Minseok had been erased altogether.
There wasn’t any point in sending out his loving thoughts in the hope that a certain someone will catch them. No-one was watching, waiting with outstretched hands. Not now.
A star died so we could be here tonight, Baozi…Beautiful, right?
He’d been so bruised and delicate even then, leaning against Minseok’s chest as he sobbed and willingly opened the rusted door to his heart.
It was closed now, no doubt.
“I’ll never be able to forget you,” he whispered softly to the wind. “I wasn’t granted the opportunity, though whether I’d actually take it…I’ll never know…”
His throat closed up. Was there any point in talking to an empty space?
Instead, his heavy feet dragged him down to the water to watch the lights sparkle and play along the tide. He stared longingly down the river, imagining the waves carrying his leaded bones down to the ocean where he’d just float like an unmoored vessel caught by the breeze. If the water wasn’t so cold, he would’ve been half-tempted to do it.
Until his gaze caught something shiny bobbing on the surface, bumping lazily against the shore.
Brows knitted, he carefully kicked it onto the dry ground and picked it up.
The hip flask.
The same hip flask seen in so many of the star’s paparazzi snaps, the same hipflask he’d poured into his coffee in the library and swigged in the back seat of the Mercedes, the same hipflask Minseok had torn from his grasp on that very hill and rid from his broken life.
And now here it was, back in his hands.
Minseok turned it over, smoothing its flat, wet surface and etched professionally on the bottom in a cursive script read:
Kim Jongin.
Minseok scoffed. “Of course it was…”
Jaw tensed, he unscrewed the top and bent down to fill up its contents, balancing on the tip of his toes and grabbing at the grass with one hand to stop himself falling forward into the water. Then he sat up, replaced the lid and, for the last time, sent it sailing through the air until it plonked under the river’s surface. He prayed it would sink and drag every ounce of his despair with it to the bottom.
Just then the back of his head tingled and Minseok looked around. There was nothing but the empty grass slope and the distant hum of traffic.
But he was sure, for only a moment, that someone had been watching him.
*
“I need your help.”
Minseok leant against the structure of the bridge, phone pressed to his cheek.
“Hit me. What do you need?” came Jongdae’s reply.
“You have links to the SM staff, right? I need you to get hold of someone for me and pass on a message.”
Silence.
“Hyung…I-”
“No, it’s not what you think.”
Jongdae was hesitant, and he probably had good reason to be. “Okay…who is it then?”
Minseok lifted up his chin and breathed his next words with confidence.
“His name is Kim Jongin.”
*
The nights were warming up, if only slightly. It was a cold spring, much colder than usual. Whether that was due to the weather or the aftershock of everything, Minseok didn’t know. What he did know was that lurking outside the SM building with his blood boiling was probably not a good idea but since he’d tried everything else, this was his only shot.
Of moving on.
He walked a little towards the road, kicking his feet out of boredom, wondering if the copper-toned enigma would ever show when a deep voice drawled behind him.
“I was wondering when I’d be seeing you again.”
Minseok turned and his stomach twanged with fury at the sight of the dancer lurking half in the shadows.
“I’m surprised you showed up at all,” he quipped.
“What, and miss this little performance? I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” He threw his hands out theatrically and stepped forward into the light. “Come on, then, Baozi. What have I done to earn this delightful visit?”
Now that he was here, face-to-face with his self-determined nemesis, words and emotions had almost defeated him.
He ran a hand roughly through his hair, eyes helplessly staring around. “I don’t even know. I’m just…so angry. Maybe punching you around the face just wasn’t enough.”
Jongin winced slightly from the memory, but quickly straightened himself up as though nothing had happened.
“How charming,” he scoffed.
Minseok closed the gap between them and, instead, focused his gaze right into Jongin’s eyes. “Why did you do it, huh? Why were you so against it, me and L-…me and him? Why did you have to be such a cunt about everything?”
“Oh, I see…I see, now. You blame me for what happened to him,” Jongin growled as his smirk melted away. “I’m right, aren’t I? You blame me for everything.”
“I have to blame someone. You were one of the last to see him before he fell. Supposedly you were fighting, too?” To that, Jongin’s eyes opened wider in shock. “Yeah, that’s right. I know about that. And after that he ended up bleeding on the floor. Hell, it might as well have been your hands tha-”
“THAT’S ENOUGH!” Jongin lashed out, shoving both hands against Minseok’s chest making him fall roughly to the ground. He leaned over menacingly, breathing through flared nostrils. “Before my pity smashes your soft, round face in. I didn’t come here to hear that shit from someone like you!”
“Then do it! Smash my face in! I don’t care!” Frustrated tears brewed at the corners of his eyes and he brushed them angrily away. He stood back up and put himself barely inches from Jongin’s skin. “You don’t get it. You don’t understand. I was forgotten. Do you have any fucking idea how it feels when someone you love doesn’t just leave you but forgets that you even exist? So, yes. I do blame you for everything. I blame you for it all because if it wasn’t for you I wouldn’t be stood here right now wanting to rip my own heart out because it hurts too much.”
“Fuck it," he cursed, flinging his hands up. "That’s all I came here to do - to tell you that your little plan worked. You win. I give up. I can’t do this anymore.”
He spun around and started walking away briskly, biting down on his tongue to distract him from the pain in his chest. Maybe if he walked fast enough, he could still catch the last bus-
“He was leaving me for you.”
Minseok froze, one foot half-lingering in the air. Then he pivoted around on the spot.
The next words that fell off Jongin’s lips looked as though they pained him. “That night…he was leaving me…to find you.”
Suddenly there was no space between them and Jongin was glaring down his strong nose. “You can throw whatever words you like at me dumpling-boy, I don’t give a shit to be perfectly honest. But it doesn’t change the fact that you weren’t the only one to care about him, so don’t pretend for a second that you were. Don’t you fucking dare, because you have no idea.”
Before turning away, he threw his last words out into the air. “You may have been forgotten. But at least you were loved.”
And then he was gone, moulding with the shadows once again and leaving Minseok to digest everything he had just heard.
Only one thing he was sure of; there was something poetic about seeing his own reflection in the shards of someone else’s broken soul.
*
His trip to see the dancer had been the final straw. It was enough to send him home to pull each of the curtains closed and pray the sun never rose again. He didn’t want to see the light of any other star, just the one that had been mercilessly plucked from his sky and rendered it eternally dark.
For the next few days, that was how he remained; locked away from the rest of the world to suffer in silence. He had enough work to keep him occupied and he presumed, at least, that there was enough food in the cupboards. He’d torture himself with thoughts of what Lu Han might be doing in that same moment, but the realisation that the star wouldn’t even remotely think of him back stung a little too harshly.
It took a green sticky note on the lid of his laptop to finally stroke fire into his limbs:
This is getting ridiculous. Write the damn article and put yourself back together again.
- Jongdae.
And when the editor even graced his home with his presence and food, he didn’t possess the will to be exultant about it on the outside but he was grateful for the inspiration to start writing again; to fulfil the promise he’d made to tell the world, or at least his small part of it, the truth about Lu Han and debunk the ridiculous rumours and scandals published in tabloids. It took all the strength he didn’t realise he had to sit there at his table and type it all out, but he did it. He even managed to retrieve the mended fanboard from the hallway despite knowing it was there for a while. He’d heard Minah knock on the door, but he didn’t answer it, although he regretted that decision once he’d seen the effort she’d put in to make him happy again.
That same day he would break his new tradition of living in darkness and fling the curtains open again.
And then he would record a song.
To call his celestial angel back to him.
Before changing into actual clothes and walking out of the door to continue his life again.
He had an appointment at Stripes to make.
*
Outside the air was brisk and Minseok rubbed his hands up and down his arms to stop them tingling under the evening breeze. It was an awkward time of year wear a jacket could either be a lifesaver or a nuisance to carry once you’d walked a while and worked up a sweat. He’d opted for the jacket-less option and quickened his steps to get the blood in his veins pumping. After checking the time on his phone’s screen, he walked even faster; uploading the song onto YouTube had taken a little longer than he’d originally expected and he’d been determined to see it online before he left, which only made him a little late. It wasn’t as though he needed to be there on the dot, but the last thing he wanted to do was disappoint anyone and make Chanyeol think he wouldn’t turn up for even a second. He owed them that.
Rounding the corner by the university, Minseok caught sight of a familiar figure by the front gates, swinging a beer bottle in one hand.
As Minseok approached, he suddenly grasped air in his empty palms, realising he’d forgotten something.
“Dammit, I forgot-”
But Jongdae pulled another bottle from behind his back and offered it forward with a sly grin. “Don’t worry, hyung, I’ve got you covered.”
Minseok let out a dry chuckle, his first in days. It tasted foreign in his throat. “Trust you to know me too well.”
“You’ve had a lot on your mind lately, I get it,” Jongdae explained as they started walking, kicking absently at the loose gravel. “Obviously you’re getting the first round in.”
“Oh, obviously.” Minseok smiled against the neck of the bottle, taking a swig and relishing the cold swirl over his tongue. “The band must be so excited.”
“They are, very much so. I don’t think Chanyeol’s sat still in weeks. Although that’s nothing new, to be honest…”
Minseok picked at the bottle’s label and croaked in a small voice, “I’m sorry…I missed it all. Or most of it, anyway.” He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to.
To that, Jongdae flashed a half-grin and looped his arm affectionately around Minseok’s neck. “Like I said, you’ve had a lot on your mind lately. The band understands. Besides, you’re here now and that’s what matters, right? They really wanted you to come tonight. It’s their last performance at Stripes, after all.”
“It’s crazy to think they’re gonna be famous. We’ve been watching them perform for, what, over 2 years now? Do you remember their first stage?”
“The one where Yeollie’s drumstick flew out of his hand and whacked that massive basketball player on the head? How could I ever forget? I’ve never heard a guy yelp that high!” he laughed loudly and openly. “It’s a good thing the kid is so tall otherwise he would’ve been pummelled. I thought Baekhyun was about ready to piss himself in fear.”
Minseok’s lips tilted at the memory. He could still picture Chanyeol’s shoulder-length, straight hair and Baekhyun’s bowl-cut and thick fringe; the era before they discovered eyeliner and curlers. Naturally, Kyungsoo hadn’t changed a bit and Tao had only become more and more stylish as time had gone. In fact, Tao had joined the band a little later than the others; close to six months later. He’d been so timid and unsure of himself in the beginning with no confidence in his Korean. Despite how much they joked of his language abilities, or lack-thereof, he’d actually improved considerably over the two years since then, even if his words remained seldom. Although, who needs words when your heart-stopping, kohl-lined stare says more than you ever could?
“They’ve come a long way since those days, huh?
Jongdae bowed his head pensively . “We all have.”
And he was right. As per usual.
Minseok nodded in agreement before lifting the bottom of his beer to the air and slurping the final drops. He let out a sigh of satisfaction and threw the now empty bottle into a bin they passed. Jongdae’s still very much half-full drink caught his eye.
“Oi! One-shot! We’re almost there!”
“Crap, you had me reminiscing. I was distracted.” Jongdae rolled his eyes and drained his own bottle, swishing the beer over his teeth with puffed out cheeks as the nearing neon light reflected brightly in his eyes.
However, the highlighter-orange only stirred something deep inside and Minseok found his feet halting, unable to take another step. The glassy memory of a black Mercedes and a sandy hand emerging from it rendered him motionless.
“Hyung, you okay?” asked Jongdae with concern, bending down in from of him.
Minseok gulped and nodded. “Yeah…yeah…I just felt a little light-headed all of a sudden…”
Jongdae raised an eyebrow, shaking his head. “Dude, you’ve had one beer. That’s pathetic.” He chuckled to himself as he opened the door to the bar and disappeared inside, leaving Minseok to collect himself on the pavement.
Because there was no black Mercedes with a sandy head to step out from it, not anymore. He mentally kicked himself for unearthing something he couldn’t bear to feel again. It was still too soon; the wound was still too fresh. But the last time he’d stood in the same spot, Lu Han had been there to look incredible and make his heart skip and now all he had was the taste of alcohol on his lips and the shadow of a moment to comfort him under the dark sky.
Nevertheless, it was enough, he thought as he stared upwards and heaved the air from his chest.
It was enough. For now.
*
Inside, it was packed to the brim and practically overflowing with bustling, noisy bodies. He thought it had been busy the last time, but even that couldn’t compare. Obviously word had got out that the infamous new group were holding a free performance, which was nothing to new to them but must’ve excited the new fans considerably. Girls flitted in groups, peering on tiptoes to watch the band set up on stage. There were definitely more groupies than last time. A couple caught his eye as he weaved between them and smiled. He’d be lying if he said his cheeks didn’t flush red.
Just as he had promised, Minseok bought the first couple of beers and went to find Jongdae by the stage just as Baekhyun stepped forward.
“Wow, there’s so many of you,” he muttered shyly, but when everyone cheered loudly, his smile shone brightly and he brought his mouth closer to the microphone. “Hi everyone! Thank you so much for coming! This is a very special gig for us tonight because…well…it’s our last performance here at Stripes for a long time-” A chorus of awwww filled the room and Baekhyun waved his hand. “No, no, don’t be sad! We recently signed a contract with AMC Entertainment-” Now everyone cheered again, reaching up high with drinks in their hands and he laughed. “That’s the spirit! So, anyway, because we’ll be working on our new album, we won’t be around for a while - but please enjoy our music tonight and look forward to our debut! We love you!”
Each member then took it in turn to form a heart for the crowd; Tao stretched his arms above his head while Kyungsoo adorably put his hands together in front of his face, making the girls that stood at the front swoon. Chanyeol ran forward and offered his own lanky limb as half of a heart with Baekhyun, but it was a little lopsided because of the height difference. They each blushed and returned to their instruments to a wave of shouts and claps.
The music began and all the voices in the bar began to sing along. Even Minseok joined in and mouthed with the words, tapping his fingers against the bottle in his hands and bobbing his head. Jongdae looked over and smiled with satisfaction.
Minseok rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to keep doing that, you know.”
He played ignorant. “Doing what?”
“Checking to make sure I’m still functioning. I’m okay now, I promise.”
Jongdae leaned in so he could be heard easier. “We were just worried about you, that’s all.”
“I know. I appreciate it, really. But I’ve done what I had to do. Now I can move on.”
Jongdae nodded with understanding and slapped a hand across his shoulders. “That’s good to know, hyung.”
During the first interval, the band bowed at the edge of the stage and hopped down to where Minseok and Jongdae were standing. Kyungsoo and Tao headed to the bar and Chanyeol immediately ran over to Minseok, looping his arm around his neck and squeezing tight.
“Hey, hyung! You’re back with us!”
“Of course, where else would I be?” He poked the drummer in the ribs and he cried out. “So you guys are really doing it, huh? You’re gonna hit the big time?”
“With everything we’ve got, hyung, you’ll see!” said Baekhyun, beaming.
“I don’t doubt it for a second.”
The others returned and handed around a new bottle to everyone.
Jongdae threw his beer into the middle of their circle. “To Urban Blackout taking over the world!”
“Here, here!” they rang out, clinking their drinks in a typical ritual.
In that moment, surrounded by the people that meant the most, Minseok truly remembered what it felt like to be content.
*
For the first day in a long time, it was sunny. Broken puffs of cumulus clouds dotted a perfectly blue sky with the sunlight warming Minseok’s skin as he walked back from the university. His day and been long, but practical. Essays had been handed in, library fees were paid, more books were taken out - he felt satisfied with how he’d spent his Friday, plus he had the weekend to look forward to which meant a well-deserved break for a precious couple of days.
He felt good. It was a good kind of day.
And the last thing he expected to witness was something to throw all of that onto its head.
Oh, no…
Minseok, arms filled with the spines of heavy hardbacks, fell against at the wall with harsh breaths at the sight that greeted him outside his apartment block.
The Mercedes.
Back again.
He’d been doing so well; everything had melted into a patchy watercolour of a reality, but at least it was sufficient in keeping him together. It didn’t help, however, when the universe was content at picking relentlessly at his seams, untying the loose knots of those threads and unrolling the fabric of what he’d desperately tried to keep whole.
What was the purpose of it this time?
They didn’t know about the song, they had no idea what it meant, so the suit couldn’t have returned to reprimand him for that - not that SM would be seen prowling around a student’s YouTube channel anyway. Unless Jongin had finally broke his silence about Minseok’s heated visit…but why would Lu Han’s manager care about something like that? It had happened over a week ago. He’d done everything else they’d asked. There was no reason for anyone from SM Entertainment to be back to see him again.
What more do you want from me?
I can’t keep doing this…
Taking shaking steps, Minseok wandered slowly to the purring vehicle as before, waiting for the dark shape of an angry manager to step out once again.
But it didn’t. Everything was still.
Confused, he looked around and caught sight of the block’s entrance. The door was ajar, swinging on its hinges in the wind. Minseok gulped, making his way up the steps, and paused at the top. The topsoil of the flowerbox sat under the ground floor window had been disturbed.
Lungs barely sucking in enough oxygen to keep him conscious, his fingers lingered on the door for a few seconds before pushing it open fully. He was not going to remotely tease himself with the prospect that…no…it wasn’t possible…
Each step up echoed off the empty walls inside and he hugged the books in his grasp close against his chest. His heart was beating so fast by this point he could feel it vibrate off the covers. Breath short and body trembling with a fool’s hope, Minseok reached his floor and peered apprehensively down the long corridor.
Sitting on the floor, outside his door, was a figure.
But it wasn’t wearing a suit.
It was wearing a baggy, navy hoody.
And round chestnuts looked up as he approached.
Lu Han.
*
In the recent weeks, Minseok’s dreams had been plagued by feathers.
Always hundreds of pale, fluffy feathers.
And every time they would swarm around his head, blurring his vision and sticking to his throat as he sucked them into his lungs until he couldn’t breathe.
That was how he felt, standing outside of his front door and faced with the source of all the pain he could ever remember; the star who’s light had escaped him for so long. He might as well have had feathers glued to the fleshy insides of his neck for all the good breathing did him in that moment.
Lu Han pushed himself to his feet and they stood as statues gawking at each other for a few minutes. There were so many things left unspoken that lingered in the space between them that the air almost felt heavier. In the end, it was Lu Han who broke the silence.
“Can we…?” He gestured to Minseok’s apartment.
Minseok nodded, tasting dry, chapped lips. His hand was surprisingly steady as he slotted the key into the lock and twisted. Perhaps the situation hadn’t quite sank in just yet.
When Lu Han stepped inside, he walked to the centre of the room and started looking around intently, taking everything in around him. Minseok took his bag and books to the table and plopped them on top. He looked up and Lu Han was observing him now, moving his gaze all over Minseok’s body.
“Who are you?” he asked in barely above a whisper.
Minseok didn’t say anything. He just continued staring back, drinking in his new reality. The hair on the side of the star’s head was still a little shorter than the rest from where the nurses had shaved it all those days and days ago. It had grown back quickly but Minseok could still tell the difference. He’d lost weight, too; that was obvious. His cheeks were ever so slightly sunken and the skin under his eyes, translucent and frail. He looked too delicate, especially engulfed by that hoody - Minseok’s old hoody. All they needed was a bag of bagels and suddenly it would be a month previously.
That’s when his hands started to tremble. It had finally sunk in.
Lu Han sighed and stepped closer. “I asked you a question. Who are you?”
Still more silence.
Eventually, Minseok heaved a painful breath and echoed the words from another lifetime ago. “I’m just a writer for a student music magazine. I’m nobody.”
Lu Han nodded his head thoughtfully before reaching into his front pouch and pulling out a folded piece of paper, which he then flattened out. “If you’re nobody…why did I do this?”
He held it out and Minseok leaned in to take it. What he saw then was something he didn’t expect.
His name, written hundreds of times.
Lu Han’s shaky voice continued. “If you’re nobody, why was your face the first I saw when I woke up? Why is it your name that the fans cry in my ear whenever I pass? Why did I write your name over and over and over again until the ink ran out?”
Kim Minseok, it read in biro, repeatedly. Sometimes it was written big in thick ink, other times in a scratchy scrawl bordered with what seemed like tear drops to make the liquid run.
“It ran out, Kim Minseok; just like my memories of you. But do you know what? I want them back.”
Minseok lifted his eyes from the page in silent shock. Had he really just heard what he thought he’d just heard?
Lu Han perched on the back of the sofa, nails digging into the fabric . “I get tastes of them every now and then, the memories - little teases of something I once had but can’t touch anymore, like they’re leering at me from behind thick glass. It hurts, so much. I don’t know what any of them mean but…your face is there, in every single one. Why is that? Who are you? I’m jealous of them, all of them - Yi Xing, Sehun, even Jongin - because they know who you are and what you meant to me and I don’t have a clue! How is that fair, Kim Minseok? How is that fair? What did I do to deserve that?”
They might as well have been Minseok’s words, for they were the same things he’d pondered each and every day about himself. He’d had not a single clue that Lu Han would be suffering in the same way.
“I was trying to ignore it. They wanted me to ignore it. They wanted me to go back to how I was in February. I remember February, just about. I don’t remember March. But I remember your face and I remember every single word to that damn song. I’d sing it and hum it and drive everyone crazy because nobody knew what it was or who wrote it and I started to think that maybe I wrote it - but I knew, deep down, that I didn’t. I couldn’t write something like that. But you could.”
He was suddenly in front of him again, jabbing a finger into his chest. Even through the fabric of his t-shirt it sent his body into haywire.
“And this hoody…” Lu Han plucked at the strings. “I couldn’t stop wearing it. I still can’t. It smells like you, I know that now. It smells like this apartment. And this,” he pulled out a key from his pocket with trembling fingertips. “This I found in the flowerbox outside, in the far left corner. I knew where to find it, though I don’t remember ever being here before. How does that even happen? How does that even work?”
He was closing the space between their two bodies, and now he stood so close that Minseok’s stomach could summersault at the sight of his long eyelashes and that little scar on his right cheek and the lips he’d do anything to taste again.
“You tell me that you’re nothing and yet out of everything, it’s you that stands out, it’s you that sticks above everything else. First I saw you at the river, my spot by the river that nobody else knows about and then I heard your song, the one you uploaded...and I had to come back to you, I had to.”
Lu Han’s uttered a desperate plea from glistening eyes. “I want them back, Kim Minseok. I want - need - you to help me find a way. Please. I can’t go on not knowing you any longer.”
And that’s when Minseok breathed his first word. “Baozi.”
“Wha-?” Lu Han blinked.
“It’s Baozi. You-…you used to call me Baozi.”
“Baozi…” he mouthed, bringing a hand up to Minseok’s cheeks and stoking lightly along his skin. “Of course. Your round face…kind of looks like a baozi…”
The feel of his touch was too much, too much to keep the tears from welling up as every nerve ending wanted to scream.
“What’s wrong? D-did I say something-?”
Minseok quickly shook his head. “No! No…it’s just…I’ve imagined this scene in my head more than a thousand times in a thousand different ways…I just-…Are you really here?”
“I’m really here.”
This was it. This was the universe giving the star back to his sky again. This was everything he’d wanted for so long. He’d tried to shut it out and forget it all but, the trust was, he couldn’t do it and now he didn’t have to, because what the universe had stolen was returned to him.
Minseok could let himself believe it all now.
He placed his hands either side of Lu Han’s face, just as he had done before, and let his soul sing out. “Then we’ll do it. We’ll get your memories back, one by one. Even if I have to take you to the same damn bar, the same damn café, the same damn bagel place I never found…we’ll piece it all back together again. And-…and if for some reason it doesn’t work…we’ll just have to make new ones; create some new memories. It’ll be worth every second.”
It was Lu Han’s tears that gave way first, gliding down his pale skin. “You mean it?”
“I mean it so fucking much. But…we have to start somewhere, right?”
He let one hand drop, while the other slid behind Lu Han’s head, fingertips laced in his fluffy hair, and pulled it forwards. Their lips collided and through the water now brimming behind his eyelids, he could still see the fireworks that exploded last time, and hear the hum of the traffic and the clicks of camera’s flashing, and the smell of the Han river filled his nostrils. Wandering hands moved to grip desperately at his sides as Lu Han’s body fitted perfectly into his own, as if the space between them had never even existed, and their torn, ragged seams were knitted together to make them whole again.
He reluctantly pulled away, though their noses continued to touch.
“That’s how you kissed me,” he whispered against the star’s mouth. “That night, on the bridge.”
“I sort of…remember…” Lu Han bit down on his bottom lip, now pink and plump, and his eyes fell down to Minseok’s. “Who are you, Kim Minseok?”
“Nǐ de*.”
{ Epilogue }
*Nǐ de (你的): yours.
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: XiuHan
Length: approx. 57,000 words.
Summary: Kim Minseok, a Music Composition major at SNU and writer for the student music entertainment magazine, Jjang!, has his predictable life turned upside-down when he meets the notorious Chinese Hallyu singing sensation, Lu Han; a new student to SNU attempting to clear his tainted image.
There were two eras in Minseok's life; pre-Lu Han and post-Lu Han; and the moment those two ages collided was the pivoting force that aligned every instant of his existence.
Until the end.
{ PROLOGUE } { PART I } { PART II } { INTERMISSION I } { PART III } { PART IV }
{ INTERMISSION II } { PART V } { PART VI } {PART VII } { EPILOGUE }
Part VII - Rebirth
January 2012
Bzzp, bzzp.
Minseok sighed and pulled his head back from the computer screen. His eyes were burning like hell and everything was blurry and spinning from staring at his essay for too long but he could just make out Jongdae’s name flashing up on the phone vibrating next to him on the table.
“What’s up, doc?” He expertly cradled his mobile between his ear and shoulder, now staring at his work from an angle.
“I’ve left some stuff in your inbox, stuff I want you to review for the next issue.”
“And you rang me to tell me that?” he asked with a chuckle, double-clicking on the internet and typing the web address for his university email. “I’m flattered that you wanted to hear my voice, truly…”
“Just read it already,” came Jongdae’s voice with a sigh. Minseok could imagine him perched at his desk in the office, running his tired hands through his hair from fatigue as his glasses slid mercilessly down his nose. He always spent far too much time in that damn room.
He scanned the screen and his jaw fell limply open. “You little fu-” Jongdae’s laugh then echoed down the line with satisfaction. “A Pink, T-ARA and…Lu Han? Are you serious? Do you seriously hate me that much?”
“I knew you’d love it - just looking out for my favourite writer!”
“So that’s why you rang me, to witness my misery? I couldn’t give a damn about any of these people!”
“Oh, I’ll be sure to tell Lu Han that if I ever meet him in person.”
“Funny. Real funny, Jongdae.” Minseok groaned and exhaled a harsh breath. “Fine. Let me just get this essay finished and I’ll get started on this hell.”
“That’s the spirit, hyung!”
He was used to it by now, of course; reviewing albums that made his ears bleed was part of the job. This was the kind of thing students wanted to read about - airbrushed idols styled with perfect hair and painted with perfect smiles and performing to the same electronic beat over and over. But it won the awards at the end of the day, and that’s what mattered. Screw the real artists with genuine talent and poetry in their music who barely ever made it into the top 5 at music shows. Nobody under the age of 30 was interested in them.
Still, something possessed him to type Lu Han’s name into the search engine that evening.
But within seconds he shook his weary head and closed the window.
He just didn’t care.
*
April 2012
He never would have thought that barely 3 months later things would turn out very differently.
Because now Minseok cared too much.
He cared that the pale, delicate face had only stared back at his own with genuine unknowing and even fear. He cared that someone like Kim Jongin, cold and poisonous, was welcomed within sight of the star’s light and warmth while he was cursed to walk in the shadows. He cared that he didn’t matter anymore.
But he didn’t care that it was raining very much.
His legs were moving of their own accord, leading him through the automatic doors and out into the rippling crowd of puddles gathering on the concrete to soak through his shoes. The heavens had opened with their own teal-hued symphony in mourning of the future he’d deluded himself into believing in; the one where he had Lu Han and he was happy. So much for that bittersweet illusion. So much for taking a second out of his reality to actually dream.
The vultures had woken from their lethargic haze, moving like hungry blurs at the edge of Minseok’s vision as they frantically prepared their cameras. The arrival of the suit must’ve sparked their shallow interests and reminded them of their destructive purpose in life. Good for them. At least they had one.
He hadn’t bothered lifting his hood up to protect his hair, but one of the small parts of him that was still awake and functioning regretted that decision as one of the reporters watched him walk past and nudged his colleague in the ribs, whispering:
“Wait-…isn’t that-?”
Minseok dug his chin into his chest, eyes down, and quickened his pace, but the vulture had caught the scent of fresh meat and ran to catch up with him brandishing a voice recorder.
“Hey! Hey! You’re that Kim Minseok kid, right? Lu Han’s loverboy? Is he awake? Is that why the management turned up? We haven’t seen much of you, have you been visiting? Do you still love him? Do you forgive him? Do you regret that night at the club, huh? Hey!”
By this point, the stumpy reporter was having to half-jog to keep up and eventually he fell behind, defeated by Minseok’s silence and loudly cursing his failure.
He walked straight past the bus stop, and carried on straight. His clothes were already soaked through and weighing down against his skin. His teeth chattered, but he just kept walking.
It was a good thing it was raining; the drops melded with his tears and hid his pain from the rest of the world.
He made it back to his apartment block so cold that his bones were chilled, but it was a welcome distraction. Until someone called out.
“Oppa?”
Jung Minah stood, hovering, by the porch. The empty space on the wall where her fanboard had once been stuck leered back in contempt, but Minseok tried to keep his eyes off it. He dreaded to wonder what she must think.
“They-…they say he woke up,” she uttered in a tiny voice, picking at the sleeve of her coat as her words almost drowned in the falling water. “Did he? Is it true?”
Minseok swallowed and bobbed his head only slightly. “Yes. It’s true. He woke-” But something caught in his throat, rendering his tongue stiff.
“Then…why aren’t you together?”
He clenched his teeth together until his gums hurt, fighting the urge to completely snap in two.
Because there’s no such thing as a happy ending.
“Just…go home, Minah,” he managed to croak, turning his head away and fishing for the set of keys in his pocket. His fingers were so numb they could barely feel the metal, and they trembled from the cold as he threw the key into the lock and slammed the door behind him, void of any regret.
Inside his apartment, Minseok’s limbs continued to steer his soul on autopilot. He kept his eyes forward with invisible blinkers and headed straight to the bedroom to fling his aching body onto the bed. Even the softness of the quilt felt as though it bruised every inch of him, and he curled into foetal position to feebly protect the raw parts left unsalted.
Only, those three words continued to scroll behind his closed lids in silent mockery.
Why…would…I?
It wasn’t fair, What did he do to deserve those memories eating him up inside? Why was it the star that earned the privilege of forgetting?
It just…wasn’t fair…
And he dwelled on that thought as he fell into an uneasy slumber, biting down on the comforter and sobbing his fragile heart out until the sun came up.
*
It wasn’t the first time Minseok had woken to the sound of a stranger rattling his front door open, so it didn’t faze him much as he wearily blinked his puffy eyelids and rolled over with a groan to bend the pillow over his ear. When it finally dawned him that someone else was inside his apartment, he immediately sat up and a voice rang out.
“Hyung? Hyung, are you in?”
Minseok quickly flung his legs over the edge of the bed, sliding on his slippers, and patted down his body to make sure he was wearing an appropriate amount of clothing. He could feel his eyes were still swollen from the night before and a quick glance in the mirror confirmed his fears of very obvious red bags. There wasn’t much he could do now except fluff his long fringe in front of his face in a meagre attempt to cover them up and linger apprehensively in the doorway.
“Jongdae…what are you doing here?” he asked hoarsely.
“Oh, there you are. You left your stuff at the hospital yesterday.” Jongdae, loitering by the entrance, heaved a guitar case and backpack from his shoulder on to the sofa. “I rang you about a hundred times but you didn’t answer so I went to there to try to find you but-” His voice cut short and he wrung his hands together in front of him.
“Thank you,” said Minseok, forcing a smile.
Jongdae took a few tentative steps forward, staring intently into Minseok’s face. “You have to tell me what happened.”
Minseok averted his eyes, nudging the edge of the carpet with his foot. “What do you mean?”
“Hyung,” he sighed. “Don’t treat me like I’m an idiot. It’s not fair.”
Minseok stole a hesitant breath. The words were hard to find, as though they were stuck to the far back of his throat, out of reach for his tongue.
“Lu Han woke up and…”
Pause.
“And…?” asked Jongdae eagerly.
I didn’t exist to him anymore.
“He…didn’t want to see me.”
“Oh, hyung…”
Minseok looked up from the floor and met Jongdae’s eyes, shining and filled with sympathy. The editor walked closer, arms awkwardly outstretched, and Minseok slipped himself between them. Jongdae held him close, patting his back slightly and it only made the tears brew, but he kept them reined in. As best he could, anyway.
He pulled back, quickly wiping under his eyelashes in case one escaped. “So, you went there, to the hospital? Did you see…?”
Jongdae shook his head. “No. He’s been moved to a different ward, I don’t know where. The nurses had stowed your things behind the counter.”
“I see…”
To that, Jongdae thinned his lips and nodded decisively, then he turned around and walked back to the front door.
“Wait, where are you going?”
He halted in the door frame. “To buy junk food. Girls do that when they’re depressed over a break up, right? They buy tonnes of ice cream and stuff and watch ridiculous movies. That’s what we’re going to do. It’ll be fun, don’t look at me like that.”
Minseok wasn’t sure what to say to that. “I-…you’re ridiculous!”
“I know!” Jongdae called back as he disappeared down the hallway.
When he returned, arms laden with goodies, Minseok dragged his quilt from the bedroom into the living area and the two of them shuffled underneath, hugging the corners and setting up a little food and drink nest between them. Just as Minseok had predicted, Jongdae had come back with not only a six pack and half a shop’s worth of sugar to rot away his insides but with a cheesy American romantic comedy slotted in his grasp. The subtitles were questionable and the toffee popcorn stuck his teeth together but it was surprisingly therapeutic having the editor there to distract him from his rogue thoughts. Minseok didn’t say much during the film in fear of setting off some kind of emotional vomit but roughly an hour into the movie, he allowed his lips to form just a few words.
“I only knew him for 5 minutes.”
Jongdae’s hand found his under the covers and their fingers squeezed together. "Sometimes it’s the minutes that mean the most.”
*
Normality was a foreign concept but something Minseok desperately tried to achieve. Although that was a little difficult when the only thing stopping you was a famous pop star that everyone felt the need to discuss on a daily basis, much to his dismay.
He heard whispers of a Japanese debut and a showcase in Tokyo pushed back to the end of the month because of the star’s diminished health…but that was all he had the strength to hear. The rest he tried to delete as best he could. Any mention of Lu Han’s name was enough to make his stomach twist with agony and chest ache from the loss, and he kicked himself mentally every time he let it get to him.
In an attempt to block it all out, Minseok threw himself into his studies and song writing. People had stopped staring at him so much by this point but he still felt the need to hide himself away in the music department until the early hours, translating his inner-anguish into the sound of a piano and musical notes scribbled on a page. It was therapeutic and calming and even Chanyeol came to join him a few times out of his newly busy schedule. He was grateful for the company.
Although Minseok knew the real reason he was there; Jongdae was worried about him and probably suggested to the others that leaving him alone for so long was a bad idea. He meant well, and perhaps he was right. He even came down himself, bringing coffee and a supportive smile down from the office to help Minseok through the night and fuel his creativity. The editor tried to hint as delicately as he could at the Lu Han article that the magazine had promised its readers which was in dire need of being written, and Minseok heard him. He just chose to ignore it.
Music was healing what writing the star’s name would surely bruise again.
Until he was home, that is. Being alone in his apartment meant his mind roamed and he’d only end up doing things he’d later regret, like curling up in his bed reading the astronomy book he’d swore to hide away but never could. He’d feel the strings of his efforts to push this part of his life aside unravel in front of him as he scanned page after page of nebulae and quasars and extrasolar planets. Lu Han had been right; the mysterious things out there in the universe really did help you to appreciate the beauty of everything, even when you’d lost hope in it.
But his real test came on a cloudy Tuesday.
The wind had picked up, sending his hair in all kinds of directions, so he slid a beanie on top in an attempt to control it. He was almost home now, where he could strip out of his jeans and throw on his pyjamas and perch on the sofa with a bowl of instants noodles in front of pointless daytime television. He rounded the corner, picking up his pace, when he saw it.
The Mercedes.
It suddenly felt as if time itself had stopped. There it was - Lu Han’s car, sat roaring on the side of the road outside his home.
…Lu Han?
He strode forward, not wanting to believe what he was seeing for a single second, and then the door opened and he gasped in anticipation.
But it wasn’t Lu Han who stepped out.
It was a tall, thick man in a suit.
*
He’d actually flinched from the pain of the disappointment that had sunk to the depths of his abdomen. For one heart-breaking moment he’d actually expected Lu Han to be stood where this strange man was standing, the same man he’d seen at the hospital, he realised.
He silently cursed the universe for being so cruel.
The suited man marched up to him confidently. “Let’s go indoors and talk, shall we?”
Minseok was hesitant but complied all the same. He had a feeling whatever this man was going to say, he wasn’t going to like it one bit.
Once inside his home, Minseok offered the man a seat but he shook his head.
“No, thank you, I won’t be staying,” he rumbled as his judging gaze surfed the interior of Minseok’s apartment, screwing up his nose slightly.
Minseok bit the inside of his cheek. “I’m sorry but…who are you?”
“I work for SM Entertainment as Lu Han’s manager, that’s all you need to know.” He cleared his throat. “I am here today in the hope that the two of us could come to a certain…understanding.”
Minseok eyed him apprehensively. “Which would be…?”
The suit’s hands met in front of his chest, fingertips together. “What happened to Lu Han with the accident was…very unfortunate, indeed - I’m sure you’ll agree. However, it also gives us the opportunity to start afresh somewhat. The incident photographed on the bridge for everyone to see, for example…” His voice suddenly became stern and cold. “That won’t be happening again. Neither will any other event where the two of you were together. As you already know, Lu Han suffered some relatively serious damage to his head from the fall and, as a result, he has no recollection of the last couple of months. Including you.”
Ouch. That definitely hurt.
“I would hate for anything embarrassing on your part to come out of this, and the health of our artists comes as a top priority. The company have gone to extensive means to remove the evidence of your time together to save Lu Han any further…distress. It is, also, imperative, in that case, that you are not permitted to talk to or even attempt to contact Lu Han under any circumstances. No legal action will be used against you to achieve this but do not think we won’t resort to it if you do not comply with our needs, Mr Kim.”
His thin lips tilted. “Let us consider this recovery from a few moments of temporary madness, perhaps. I do hope you can understand. So, Mr Kim, have we come to our understanding?”
All Minseok could do was bob his head as the truths sank painfully through his skin.
“Good. I will take my leave, then,” said the suit, walking around Minseok’s still frame to the doorway.
Until he managed to unstick his throat. “He’ll break away from you some day, you’ll see.” Minseok turned, talking directly into that calculative face. “You can’t hold him like that forever.”
The suit smirked, professional façade fading. “Watch me.”
And clicked the door behind him.
*
“Just pull up over here? On the right?”
The taxi driver met Minseok’s eyes in the rear-view mirror and nodded, flicking his indicator.
He’d tried to his best ability to remember the way to the spot by the bridge, despite how much it hurt to clench his eyes shut and picture everything from that night. He’d hoped the grains of that memory had already fallen through the wavering cracks but, as he’d already experienced, life wasn’t as kind as that; he could remember, clear as the sky in the morning, the taste of the cool night air on his cocktail-infused tongue, the blades of grass tickling his arms, the aroma of hairspray that dispersed from Lu Han’s hair as he ran his fingers over it to calm his tears. There was nothing he could do but accept the pain caused by the memories tattooed onto the fleshy surface of his subconscious. The ink ran deep, and that was that. There was, however, one more level of near-sanity he could achieve.
Closure.
If one good thing could come out of the burly suit’s unpleasant visit, this was it.
And this was what fueled Minseok to step out of that taxi cab near the end of the bridge, slipping notes with shaking fingers through the window and watching it drive away, back into the city.
Soon he was just a boy walking alone across the grassy bank, following the smell of the river and the pull of his heart with hands tucked deep into his coat pockets and eyes to the floor. He didn’t dare look up at the glowing skyline, not yet. It wasn’t time yet.
When he reached the top of the hill, panting a little from the walk, the punch of nostalgia against his chest hit him harder than he expected, no matter how slowly he looked up, and his knees shook. It was just as he had left it - that canvas of hundreds of lights still shone just as brightly over the water. If he squinted, the cluster of glowing dots really looked like a golden milky way through the gaps of his eyelashes.
I like to come here sometimes…to pretend the city lights are like the stars…
The voice rang through his head as loud as if it the words were spoken directly into his ear.
Jongdae hadn’t been entirely right about everything; it wasn’t just a breakup, although he didn’t know any different. With a breakup you can comfort the burning sear in the middle of your heart with the thought that somewhere, even if it’s only for a second, the one you lost could still be thinking about you, and loving you, and even wanting you back.
Minseok didn’t have that illusion to cushion the blow.
Because Minseok had been erased altogether.
There wasn’t any point in sending out his loving thoughts in the hope that a certain someone will catch them. No-one was watching, waiting with outstretched hands. Not now.
A star died so we could be here tonight, Baozi…Beautiful, right?
He’d been so bruised and delicate even then, leaning against Minseok’s chest as he sobbed and willingly opened the rusted door to his heart.
It was closed now, no doubt.
“I’ll never be able to forget you,” he whispered softly to the wind. “I wasn’t granted the opportunity, though whether I’d actually take it…I’ll never know…”
His throat closed up. Was there any point in talking to an empty space?
Instead, his heavy feet dragged him down to the water to watch the lights sparkle and play along the tide. He stared longingly down the river, imagining the waves carrying his leaded bones down to the ocean where he’d just float like an unmoored vessel caught by the breeze. If the water wasn’t so cold, he would’ve been half-tempted to do it.
Until his gaze caught something shiny bobbing on the surface, bumping lazily against the shore.
Brows knitted, he carefully kicked it onto the dry ground and picked it up.
The hip flask.
The same hip flask seen in so many of the star’s paparazzi snaps, the same hipflask he’d poured into his coffee in the library and swigged in the back seat of the Mercedes, the same hipflask Minseok had torn from his grasp on that very hill and rid from his broken life.
And now here it was, back in his hands.
Minseok turned it over, smoothing its flat, wet surface and etched professionally on the bottom in a cursive script read:
Kim Jongin.
Minseok scoffed. “Of course it was…”
Jaw tensed, he unscrewed the top and bent down to fill up its contents, balancing on the tip of his toes and grabbing at the grass with one hand to stop himself falling forward into the water. Then he sat up, replaced the lid and, for the last time, sent it sailing through the air until it plonked under the river’s surface. He prayed it would sink and drag every ounce of his despair with it to the bottom.
Just then the back of his head tingled and Minseok looked around. There was nothing but the empty grass slope and the distant hum of traffic.
But he was sure, for only a moment, that someone had been watching him.
*
“I need your help.”
Minseok leant against the structure of the bridge, phone pressed to his cheek.
“Hit me. What do you need?” came Jongdae’s reply.
“You have links to the SM staff, right? I need you to get hold of someone for me and pass on a message.”
Silence.
“Hyung…I-”
“No, it’s not what you think.”
Jongdae was hesitant, and he probably had good reason to be. “Okay…who is it then?”
Minseok lifted up his chin and breathed his next words with confidence.
“His name is Kim Jongin.”
*
The nights were warming up, if only slightly. It was a cold spring, much colder than usual. Whether that was due to the weather or the aftershock of everything, Minseok didn’t know. What he did know was that lurking outside the SM building with his blood boiling was probably not a good idea but since he’d tried everything else, this was his only shot.
Of moving on.
He walked a little towards the road, kicking his feet out of boredom, wondering if the copper-toned enigma would ever show when a deep voice drawled behind him.
“I was wondering when I’d be seeing you again.”
Minseok turned and his stomach twanged with fury at the sight of the dancer lurking half in the shadows.
“I’m surprised you showed up at all,” he quipped.
“What, and miss this little performance? I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” He threw his hands out theatrically and stepped forward into the light. “Come on, then, Baozi. What have I done to earn this delightful visit?”
Now that he was here, face-to-face with his self-determined nemesis, words and emotions had almost defeated him.
He ran a hand roughly through his hair, eyes helplessly staring around. “I don’t even know. I’m just…so angry. Maybe punching you around the face just wasn’t enough.”
Jongin winced slightly from the memory, but quickly straightened himself up as though nothing had happened.
“How charming,” he scoffed.
Minseok closed the gap between them and, instead, focused his gaze right into Jongin’s eyes. “Why did you do it, huh? Why were you so against it, me and L-…me and him? Why did you have to be such a cunt about everything?”
“Oh, I see…I see, now. You blame me for what happened to him,” Jongin growled as his smirk melted away. “I’m right, aren’t I? You blame me for everything.”
“I have to blame someone. You were one of the last to see him before he fell. Supposedly you were fighting, too?” To that, Jongin’s eyes opened wider in shock. “Yeah, that’s right. I know about that. And after that he ended up bleeding on the floor. Hell, it might as well have been your hands tha-”
“THAT’S ENOUGH!” Jongin lashed out, shoving both hands against Minseok’s chest making him fall roughly to the ground. He leaned over menacingly, breathing through flared nostrils. “Before my pity smashes your soft, round face in. I didn’t come here to hear that shit from someone like you!”
“Then do it! Smash my face in! I don’t care!” Frustrated tears brewed at the corners of his eyes and he brushed them angrily away. He stood back up and put himself barely inches from Jongin’s skin. “You don’t get it. You don’t understand. I was forgotten. Do you have any fucking idea how it feels when someone you love doesn’t just leave you but forgets that you even exist? So, yes. I do blame you for everything. I blame you for it all because if it wasn’t for you I wouldn’t be stood here right now wanting to rip my own heart out because it hurts too much.”
“Fuck it," he cursed, flinging his hands up. "That’s all I came here to do - to tell you that your little plan worked. You win. I give up. I can’t do this anymore.”
He spun around and started walking away briskly, biting down on his tongue to distract him from the pain in his chest. Maybe if he walked fast enough, he could still catch the last bus-
“He was leaving me for you.”
Minseok froze, one foot half-lingering in the air. Then he pivoted around on the spot.
The next words that fell off Jongin’s lips looked as though they pained him. “That night…he was leaving me…to find you.”
Suddenly there was no space between them and Jongin was glaring down his strong nose. “You can throw whatever words you like at me dumpling-boy, I don’t give a shit to be perfectly honest. But it doesn’t change the fact that you weren’t the only one to care about him, so don’t pretend for a second that you were. Don’t you fucking dare, because you have no idea.”
Before turning away, he threw his last words out into the air. “You may have been forgotten. But at least you were loved.”
And then he was gone, moulding with the shadows once again and leaving Minseok to digest everything he had just heard.
Only one thing he was sure of; there was something poetic about seeing his own reflection in the shards of someone else’s broken soul.
*
His trip to see the dancer had been the final straw. It was enough to send him home to pull each of the curtains closed and pray the sun never rose again. He didn’t want to see the light of any other star, just the one that had been mercilessly plucked from his sky and rendered it eternally dark.
For the next few days, that was how he remained; locked away from the rest of the world to suffer in silence. He had enough work to keep him occupied and he presumed, at least, that there was enough food in the cupboards. He’d torture himself with thoughts of what Lu Han might be doing in that same moment, but the realisation that the star wouldn’t even remotely think of him back stung a little too harshly.
It took a green sticky note on the lid of his laptop to finally stroke fire into his limbs:
This is getting ridiculous. Write the damn article and put yourself back together again.
- Jongdae.
And when the editor even graced his home with his presence and food, he didn’t possess the will to be exultant about it on the outside but he was grateful for the inspiration to start writing again; to fulfil the promise he’d made to tell the world, or at least his small part of it, the truth about Lu Han and debunk the ridiculous rumours and scandals published in tabloids. It took all the strength he didn’t realise he had to sit there at his table and type it all out, but he did it. He even managed to retrieve the mended fanboard from the hallway despite knowing it was there for a while. He’d heard Minah knock on the door, but he didn’t answer it, although he regretted that decision once he’d seen the effort she’d put in to make him happy again.
That same day he would break his new tradition of living in darkness and fling the curtains open again.
And then he would record a song.
To call his celestial angel back to him.
Before changing into actual clothes and walking out of the door to continue his life again.
He had an appointment at Stripes to make.
*
Outside the air was brisk and Minseok rubbed his hands up and down his arms to stop them tingling under the evening breeze. It was an awkward time of year wear a jacket could either be a lifesaver or a nuisance to carry once you’d walked a while and worked up a sweat. He’d opted for the jacket-less option and quickened his steps to get the blood in his veins pumping. After checking the time on his phone’s screen, he walked even faster; uploading the song onto YouTube had taken a little longer than he’d originally expected and he’d been determined to see it online before he left, which only made him a little late. It wasn’t as though he needed to be there on the dot, but the last thing he wanted to do was disappoint anyone and make Chanyeol think he wouldn’t turn up for even a second. He owed them that.
Rounding the corner by the university, Minseok caught sight of a familiar figure by the front gates, swinging a beer bottle in one hand.
As Minseok approached, he suddenly grasped air in his empty palms, realising he’d forgotten something.
“Dammit, I forgot-”
But Jongdae pulled another bottle from behind his back and offered it forward with a sly grin. “Don’t worry, hyung, I’ve got you covered.”
Minseok let out a dry chuckle, his first in days. It tasted foreign in his throat. “Trust you to know me too well.”
“You’ve had a lot on your mind lately, I get it,” Jongdae explained as they started walking, kicking absently at the loose gravel. “Obviously you’re getting the first round in.”
“Oh, obviously.” Minseok smiled against the neck of the bottle, taking a swig and relishing the cold swirl over his tongue. “The band must be so excited.”
“They are, very much so. I don’t think Chanyeol’s sat still in weeks. Although that’s nothing new, to be honest…”
Minseok picked at the bottle’s label and croaked in a small voice, “I’m sorry…I missed it all. Or most of it, anyway.” He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to.
To that, Jongdae flashed a half-grin and looped his arm affectionately around Minseok’s neck. “Like I said, you’ve had a lot on your mind lately. The band understands. Besides, you’re here now and that’s what matters, right? They really wanted you to come tonight. It’s their last performance at Stripes, after all.”
“It’s crazy to think they’re gonna be famous. We’ve been watching them perform for, what, over 2 years now? Do you remember their first stage?”
“The one where Yeollie’s drumstick flew out of his hand and whacked that massive basketball player on the head? How could I ever forget? I’ve never heard a guy yelp that high!” he laughed loudly and openly. “It’s a good thing the kid is so tall otherwise he would’ve been pummelled. I thought Baekhyun was about ready to piss himself in fear.”
Minseok’s lips tilted at the memory. He could still picture Chanyeol’s shoulder-length, straight hair and Baekhyun’s bowl-cut and thick fringe; the era before they discovered eyeliner and curlers. Naturally, Kyungsoo hadn’t changed a bit and Tao had only become more and more stylish as time had gone. In fact, Tao had joined the band a little later than the others; close to six months later. He’d been so timid and unsure of himself in the beginning with no confidence in his Korean. Despite how much they joked of his language abilities, or lack-thereof, he’d actually improved considerably over the two years since then, even if his words remained seldom. Although, who needs words when your heart-stopping, kohl-lined stare says more than you ever could?
“They’ve come a long way since those days, huh?
Jongdae bowed his head pensively . “We all have.”
And he was right. As per usual.
Minseok nodded in agreement before lifting the bottom of his beer to the air and slurping the final drops. He let out a sigh of satisfaction and threw the now empty bottle into a bin they passed. Jongdae’s still very much half-full drink caught his eye.
“Oi! One-shot! We’re almost there!”
“Crap, you had me reminiscing. I was distracted.” Jongdae rolled his eyes and drained his own bottle, swishing the beer over his teeth with puffed out cheeks as the nearing neon light reflected brightly in his eyes.
However, the highlighter-orange only stirred something deep inside and Minseok found his feet halting, unable to take another step. The glassy memory of a black Mercedes and a sandy hand emerging from it rendered him motionless.
“Hyung, you okay?” asked Jongdae with concern, bending down in from of him.
Minseok gulped and nodded. “Yeah…yeah…I just felt a little light-headed all of a sudden…”
Jongdae raised an eyebrow, shaking his head. “Dude, you’ve had one beer. That’s pathetic.” He chuckled to himself as he opened the door to the bar and disappeared inside, leaving Minseok to collect himself on the pavement.
Because there was no black Mercedes with a sandy head to step out from it, not anymore. He mentally kicked himself for unearthing something he couldn’t bear to feel again. It was still too soon; the wound was still too fresh. But the last time he’d stood in the same spot, Lu Han had been there to look incredible and make his heart skip and now all he had was the taste of alcohol on his lips and the shadow of a moment to comfort him under the dark sky.
Nevertheless, it was enough, he thought as he stared upwards and heaved the air from his chest.
It was enough. For now.
*
Inside, it was packed to the brim and practically overflowing with bustling, noisy bodies. He thought it had been busy the last time, but even that couldn’t compare. Obviously word had got out that the infamous new group were holding a free performance, which was nothing to new to them but must’ve excited the new fans considerably. Girls flitted in groups, peering on tiptoes to watch the band set up on stage. There were definitely more groupies than last time. A couple caught his eye as he weaved between them and smiled. He’d be lying if he said his cheeks didn’t flush red.
Just as he had promised, Minseok bought the first couple of beers and went to find Jongdae by the stage just as Baekhyun stepped forward.
“Wow, there’s so many of you,” he muttered shyly, but when everyone cheered loudly, his smile shone brightly and he brought his mouth closer to the microphone. “Hi everyone! Thank you so much for coming! This is a very special gig for us tonight because…well…it’s our last performance here at Stripes for a long time-” A chorus of awwww filled the room and Baekhyun waved his hand. “No, no, don’t be sad! We recently signed a contract with AMC Entertainment-” Now everyone cheered again, reaching up high with drinks in their hands and he laughed. “That’s the spirit! So, anyway, because we’ll be working on our new album, we won’t be around for a while - but please enjoy our music tonight and look forward to our debut! We love you!”
Each member then took it in turn to form a heart for the crowd; Tao stretched his arms above his head while Kyungsoo adorably put his hands together in front of his face, making the girls that stood at the front swoon. Chanyeol ran forward and offered his own lanky limb as half of a heart with Baekhyun, but it was a little lopsided because of the height difference. They each blushed and returned to their instruments to a wave of shouts and claps.
The music began and all the voices in the bar began to sing along. Even Minseok joined in and mouthed with the words, tapping his fingers against the bottle in his hands and bobbing his head. Jongdae looked over and smiled with satisfaction.
Minseok rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to keep doing that, you know.”
He played ignorant. “Doing what?”
“Checking to make sure I’m still functioning. I’m okay now, I promise.”
Jongdae leaned in so he could be heard easier. “We were just worried about you, that’s all.”
“I know. I appreciate it, really. But I’ve done what I had to do. Now I can move on.”
Jongdae nodded with understanding and slapped a hand across his shoulders. “That’s good to know, hyung.”
During the first interval, the band bowed at the edge of the stage and hopped down to where Minseok and Jongdae were standing. Kyungsoo and Tao headed to the bar and Chanyeol immediately ran over to Minseok, looping his arm around his neck and squeezing tight.
“Hey, hyung! You’re back with us!”
“Of course, where else would I be?” He poked the drummer in the ribs and he cried out. “So you guys are really doing it, huh? You’re gonna hit the big time?”
“With everything we’ve got, hyung, you’ll see!” said Baekhyun, beaming.
“I don’t doubt it for a second.”
The others returned and handed around a new bottle to everyone.
Jongdae threw his beer into the middle of their circle. “To Urban Blackout taking over the world!”
“Here, here!” they rang out, clinking their drinks in a typical ritual.
In that moment, surrounded by the people that meant the most, Minseok truly remembered what it felt like to be content.
*
For the first day in a long time, it was sunny. Broken puffs of cumulus clouds dotted a perfectly blue sky with the sunlight warming Minseok’s skin as he walked back from the university. His day and been long, but practical. Essays had been handed in, library fees were paid, more books were taken out - he felt satisfied with how he’d spent his Friday, plus he had the weekend to look forward to which meant a well-deserved break for a precious couple of days.
He felt good. It was a good kind of day.
And the last thing he expected to witness was something to throw all of that onto its head.
Oh, no…
Minseok, arms filled with the spines of heavy hardbacks, fell against at the wall with harsh breaths at the sight that greeted him outside his apartment block.
The Mercedes.
Back again.
He’d been doing so well; everything had melted into a patchy watercolour of a reality, but at least it was sufficient in keeping him together. It didn’t help, however, when the universe was content at picking relentlessly at his seams, untying the loose knots of those threads and unrolling the fabric of what he’d desperately tried to keep whole.
What was the purpose of it this time?
They didn’t know about the song, they had no idea what it meant, so the suit couldn’t have returned to reprimand him for that - not that SM would be seen prowling around a student’s YouTube channel anyway. Unless Jongin had finally broke his silence about Minseok’s heated visit…but why would Lu Han’s manager care about something like that? It had happened over a week ago. He’d done everything else they’d asked. There was no reason for anyone from SM Entertainment to be back to see him again.
What more do you want from me?
I can’t keep doing this…
Taking shaking steps, Minseok wandered slowly to the purring vehicle as before, waiting for the dark shape of an angry manager to step out once again.
But it didn’t. Everything was still.
Confused, he looked around and caught sight of the block’s entrance. The door was ajar, swinging on its hinges in the wind. Minseok gulped, making his way up the steps, and paused at the top. The topsoil of the flowerbox sat under the ground floor window had been disturbed.
Lungs barely sucking in enough oxygen to keep him conscious, his fingers lingered on the door for a few seconds before pushing it open fully. He was not going to remotely tease himself with the prospect that…no…it wasn’t possible…
Each step up echoed off the empty walls inside and he hugged the books in his grasp close against his chest. His heart was beating so fast by this point he could feel it vibrate off the covers. Breath short and body trembling with a fool’s hope, Minseok reached his floor and peered apprehensively down the long corridor.
Sitting on the floor, outside his door, was a figure.
But it wasn’t wearing a suit.
It was wearing a baggy, navy hoody.
And round chestnuts looked up as he approached.
Lu Han.
*
In the recent weeks, Minseok’s dreams had been plagued by feathers.
Always hundreds of pale, fluffy feathers.
And every time they would swarm around his head, blurring his vision and sticking to his throat as he sucked them into his lungs until he couldn’t breathe.
That was how he felt, standing outside of his front door and faced with the source of all the pain he could ever remember; the star who’s light had escaped him for so long. He might as well have had feathers glued to the fleshy insides of his neck for all the good breathing did him in that moment.
Lu Han pushed himself to his feet and they stood as statues gawking at each other for a few minutes. There were so many things left unspoken that lingered in the space between them that the air almost felt heavier. In the end, it was Lu Han who broke the silence.
“Can we…?” He gestured to Minseok’s apartment.
Minseok nodded, tasting dry, chapped lips. His hand was surprisingly steady as he slotted the key into the lock and twisted. Perhaps the situation hadn’t quite sank in just yet.
When Lu Han stepped inside, he walked to the centre of the room and started looking around intently, taking everything in around him. Minseok took his bag and books to the table and plopped them on top. He looked up and Lu Han was observing him now, moving his gaze all over Minseok’s body.
“Who are you?” he asked in barely above a whisper.
Minseok didn’t say anything. He just continued staring back, drinking in his new reality. The hair on the side of the star’s head was still a little shorter than the rest from where the nurses had shaved it all those days and days ago. It had grown back quickly but Minseok could still tell the difference. He’d lost weight, too; that was obvious. His cheeks were ever so slightly sunken and the skin under his eyes, translucent and frail. He looked too delicate, especially engulfed by that hoody - Minseok’s old hoody. All they needed was a bag of bagels and suddenly it would be a month previously.
That’s when his hands started to tremble. It had finally sunk in.
Lu Han sighed and stepped closer. “I asked you a question. Who are you?”
Still more silence.
Eventually, Minseok heaved a painful breath and echoed the words from another lifetime ago. “I’m just a writer for a student music magazine. I’m nobody.”
Lu Han nodded his head thoughtfully before reaching into his front pouch and pulling out a folded piece of paper, which he then flattened out. “If you’re nobody…why did I do this?”
He held it out and Minseok leaned in to take it. What he saw then was something he didn’t expect.
His name, written hundreds of times.
Lu Han’s shaky voice continued. “If you’re nobody, why was your face the first I saw when I woke up? Why is it your name that the fans cry in my ear whenever I pass? Why did I write your name over and over and over again until the ink ran out?”
Kim Minseok, it read in biro, repeatedly. Sometimes it was written big in thick ink, other times in a scratchy scrawl bordered with what seemed like tear drops to make the liquid run.
“It ran out, Kim Minseok; just like my memories of you. But do you know what? I want them back.”
Minseok lifted his eyes from the page in silent shock. Had he really just heard what he thought he’d just heard?
Lu Han perched on the back of the sofa, nails digging into the fabric . “I get tastes of them every now and then, the memories - little teases of something I once had but can’t touch anymore, like they’re leering at me from behind thick glass. It hurts, so much. I don’t know what any of them mean but…your face is there, in every single one. Why is that? Who are you? I’m jealous of them, all of them - Yi Xing, Sehun, even Jongin - because they know who you are and what you meant to me and I don’t have a clue! How is that fair, Kim Minseok? How is that fair? What did I do to deserve that?”
They might as well have been Minseok’s words, for they were the same things he’d pondered each and every day about himself. He’d had not a single clue that Lu Han would be suffering in the same way.
“I was trying to ignore it. They wanted me to ignore it. They wanted me to go back to how I was in February. I remember February, just about. I don’t remember March. But I remember your face and I remember every single word to that damn song. I’d sing it and hum it and drive everyone crazy because nobody knew what it was or who wrote it and I started to think that maybe I wrote it - but I knew, deep down, that I didn’t. I couldn’t write something like that. But you could.”
He was suddenly in front of him again, jabbing a finger into his chest. Even through the fabric of his t-shirt it sent his body into haywire.
“And this hoody…” Lu Han plucked at the strings. “I couldn’t stop wearing it. I still can’t. It smells like you, I know that now. It smells like this apartment. And this,” he pulled out a key from his pocket with trembling fingertips. “This I found in the flowerbox outside, in the far left corner. I knew where to find it, though I don’t remember ever being here before. How does that even happen? How does that even work?”
He was closing the space between their two bodies, and now he stood so close that Minseok’s stomach could summersault at the sight of his long eyelashes and that little scar on his right cheek and the lips he’d do anything to taste again.
“You tell me that you’re nothing and yet out of everything, it’s you that stands out, it’s you that sticks above everything else. First I saw you at the river, my spot by the river that nobody else knows about and then I heard your song, the one you uploaded...and I had to come back to you, I had to.”
Lu Han’s uttered a desperate plea from glistening eyes. “I want them back, Kim Minseok. I want - need - you to help me find a way. Please. I can’t go on not knowing you any longer.”
And that’s when Minseok breathed his first word. “Baozi.”
“Wha-?” Lu Han blinked.
“It’s Baozi. You-…you used to call me Baozi.”
“Baozi…” he mouthed, bringing a hand up to Minseok’s cheeks and stoking lightly along his skin. “Of course. Your round face…kind of looks like a baozi…”
The feel of his touch was too much, too much to keep the tears from welling up as every nerve ending wanted to scream.
“What’s wrong? D-did I say something-?”
Minseok quickly shook his head. “No! No…it’s just…I’ve imagined this scene in my head more than a thousand times in a thousand different ways…I just-…Are you really here?”
“I’m really here.”
This was it. This was the universe giving the star back to his sky again. This was everything he’d wanted for so long. He’d tried to shut it out and forget it all but, the trust was, he couldn’t do it and now he didn’t have to, because what the universe had stolen was returned to him.
Minseok could let himself believe it all now.
He placed his hands either side of Lu Han’s face, just as he had done before, and let his soul sing out. “Then we’ll do it. We’ll get your memories back, one by one. Even if I have to take you to the same damn bar, the same damn café, the same damn bagel place I never found…we’ll piece it all back together again. And-…and if for some reason it doesn’t work…we’ll just have to make new ones; create some new memories. It’ll be worth every second.”
It was Lu Han’s tears that gave way first, gliding down his pale skin. “You mean it?”
“I mean it so fucking much. But…we have to start somewhere, right?”
He let one hand drop, while the other slid behind Lu Han’s head, fingertips laced in his fluffy hair, and pulled it forwards. Their lips collided and through the water now brimming behind his eyelids, he could still see the fireworks that exploded last time, and hear the hum of the traffic and the clicks of camera’s flashing, and the smell of the Han river filled his nostrils. Wandering hands moved to grip desperately at his sides as Lu Han’s body fitted perfectly into his own, as if the space between them had never even existed, and their torn, ragged seams were knitted together to make them whole again.
He reluctantly pulled away, though their noses continued to touch.
“That’s how you kissed me,” he whispered against the star’s mouth. “That night, on the bridge.”
“I sort of…remember…” Lu Han bit down on his bottom lip, now pink and plump, and his eyes fell down to Minseok’s. “Who are you, Kim Minseok?”
“Nǐ de*.”
{ Epilogue }
*Nǐ de (你的): yours.