Mooore YooSu.
Two weeks went by, and I didn’t see Yoochun at all.
At first I though that maybe he was sick or something … maybe there was some reason for him to be gone, for him to not come back and see me. There had to be a reason … he wouldn’t just leave like that. He wouldn’t … right?
But it was harder to try and stay positive as time went on. Two weeks doesn’t seem like a long time, but to me, it was nearly a lifetime. I could practically feel the way that my heart constricted every time I thought about him. I wondered if something bad had happened to him, if he was hurt, or if he had just up and left. I wondered if he had skipped school and been caught by the police or something. I wonder if more serious matters were occurring, like he told me they would.
I wonder if maybe he just got sick of me. That could’ve been it … Maybe I wasn’t fun to be around anymore. Not since I had woken up with this burning in my lungs, my chest, still coughing up blood even after I was sure there couldn’t be anymore left inside of me. I couldn’t be fun to be around, not whenever I had to stay in bed like this. I couldn’t even play the piano anymore. I was starting to worry that maybe I was losing it. Losing myself … Losing him.
That’s what I was afraid of, more afraid of than anything I had ever felt in my entire life. I was so afraid, but I couldn’t do anything about it. It was already happening, had already happened, and he was gone, I was sure of it.
He had slipped through my fingers, and I hadn’t even had the chance to say goodbye.
Two weeks. Two weeks, and it kept hurting. I kept coughing, choking on myself, on my own negativity. I couldn’t remember ever being so negative. And it was frustrating. It was frustrating that something that seemed so simple could do this to me… Frustrating that every time I looked over at those cranes, every time I remembered his smile, the only thing that I wanted to do was fall back into the way that he made me feel. The warmth of his smile, of his body resting against me. His voice, his music, his everything.
I wanted him to come back. I wanted him to come back to me. And I was getting worse.
***
It was about halfway through the third week whenever he came back.
At first, the nurses wouldn’t let him into my room. I heard them arguing out in the hallway, heard his voice as I woke up I didn’t want to believe it at first. Or maybe I did want to believe it, but then something in the back of my mind stopped me. Something in the back of my mind told me that he couldn’t be there. It was impossible. He wouldn’t come back to me … he wouldn’t.
But he could, and he did.
It was a sudden movement, but I saw it out of the corner of my eye. Before I could muster up the strength to turn my head he was in the room again, his cheeks were flushed and he was breathing heavily. Just like before. Just like the days whenever he used to run, run all the way here just to see me. I missed him. I missed him so much, but just as I opened my mouth to tell him, he spoke first.
“Junsu.”
I hadn’t heard his voice in so long, hadn’t heard my own name in even longer. It seemed like a dream, like nothing that was happening could possibly be real. I felt a smile pulling at the corners of my lips as he made his way closer, settling on the side of my bed and looking at me with worried, searching eyes. I had seen that look in his eyes before, that concern, but never before had he been so open about it. Never before had he been so open about anything he felt, but now I could tell that he hadn’t wanted to leave.
He was back. And I was happy all over again.
“I thought you were never coming back.”
My own voice is soft, softer than I remember it being. Almost as soft as the feeling of his hand finding mine, gripping it slowly. A feeling that’s different, nothing he’s ever done before. But I don’t mind.
“I couldn’t stay away from you, Junsu.”
And from that moment on, he wasn’t away from me. Not even for a minute. He stayed with me as much as he could, and I didn’t remember what loneliness felt like. There wasn’t loneliness. Not with him.
***
I never knew why he left, never knew what it was that made him go away. I’m sure it has something to do with that night, something to do with the snow and the igloo and how sick I am now. But I don’t think it really matters. It would’ve happened eventually anyway, but at least we got to finish everything that we could. We’re almost done with the cranes now. I can’t fold them very well anymore, but Yoochun still does while we sit and talk.
He talks a lot more now, and he’s a lot more open about everything. I’ve learned so much in just a couple of weeks about his brother, Ricky. His mother and his father and the way that they used to fight all the time, the way that his aunt hates his long hair and is threatening to make him cut it. I like it when he talks to me. I like to close my eyes and listen to the sound of his voice and pretend that everything is okay.
“Junsu.”
When he says my name like that, I know it means he’s going to tell me something important. I look up, ready to pay attention.
“Hm?”
“I wrote something for you.”
My stomach does a couple of flips in anticipation. For me? He wrote something? For some reason I find it hard to believe, but it’s the truth, and he proves it by pulling out the same crumpled piece of paper that I remember from before. The night when we had planted the tree.
There are scratches all over it, scribbles and notes and so many things that it seems almost impossible to understand all of them. At first I reach out, expecting him to hand it to me, but he doesn’t. Instead he looks at me, and I’m confused.
“I know I never told you this,” he says, seeming to be choosing his words carefully. “But I like to write music. Compose things …. They usually aren’t very good, but I guess you could say it’s a hobby.”
That would explain the piano. The way everything about him is so smooth, the way it all flows together so easily … Like music.
And he doesn’t have to give me an explanation. He doesn’t have to say anything, because then the melody is suddenly filling in all of the spaces in between us and I wouldn’t want to stop him for anything in the world, because he’s singing for me. Just for me.
It hurts to breathe, and I’m scared.
At first I though that maybe he was sick or something … maybe there was some reason for him to be gone, for him to not come back and see me. There had to be a reason … he wouldn’t just leave like that. He wouldn’t … right?
But it was harder to try and stay positive as time went on. Two weeks doesn’t seem like a long time, but to me, it was nearly a lifetime. I could practically feel the way that my heart constricted every time I thought about him. I wondered if something bad had happened to him, if he was hurt, or if he had just up and left. I wondered if he had skipped school and been caught by the police or something. I wonder if more serious matters were occurring, like he told me they would.
I wonder if maybe he just got sick of me. That could’ve been it … Maybe I wasn’t fun to be around anymore. Not since I had woken up with this burning in my lungs, my chest, still coughing up blood even after I was sure there couldn’t be anymore left inside of me. I couldn’t be fun to be around, not whenever I had to stay in bed like this. I couldn’t even play the piano anymore. I was starting to worry that maybe I was losing it. Losing myself … Losing him.
That’s what I was afraid of, more afraid of than anything I had ever felt in my entire life. I was so afraid, but I couldn’t do anything about it. It was already happening, had already happened, and he was gone, I was sure of it.
He had slipped through my fingers, and I hadn’t even had the chance to say goodbye.
Two weeks. Two weeks, and it kept hurting. I kept coughing, choking on myself, on my own negativity. I couldn’t remember ever being so negative. And it was frustrating. It was frustrating that something that seemed so simple could do this to me… Frustrating that every time I looked over at those cranes, every time I remembered his smile, the only thing that I wanted to do was fall back into the way that he made me feel. The warmth of his smile, of his body resting against me. His voice, his music, his everything.
I wanted him to come back. I wanted him to come back to me. And I was getting worse.
***
It was about halfway through the third week whenever he came back.
At first, the nurses wouldn’t let him into my room. I heard them arguing out in the hallway, heard his voice as I woke up I didn’t want to believe it at first. Or maybe I did want to believe it, but then something in the back of my mind stopped me. Something in the back of my mind told me that he couldn’t be there. It was impossible. He wouldn’t come back to me … he wouldn’t.
But he could, and he did.
It was a sudden movement, but I saw it out of the corner of my eye. Before I could muster up the strength to turn my head he was in the room again, his cheeks were flushed and he was breathing heavily. Just like before. Just like the days whenever he used to run, run all the way here just to see me. I missed him. I missed him so much, but just as I opened my mouth to tell him, he spoke first.
“Junsu.”
I hadn’t heard his voice in so long, hadn’t heard my own name in even longer. It seemed like a dream, like nothing that was happening could possibly be real. I felt a smile pulling at the corners of my lips as he made his way closer, settling on the side of my bed and looking at me with worried, searching eyes. I had seen that look in his eyes before, that concern, but never before had he been so open about it. Never before had he been so open about anything he felt, but now I could tell that he hadn’t wanted to leave.
He was back. And I was happy all over again.
“I thought you were never coming back.”
My own voice is soft, softer than I remember it being. Almost as soft as the feeling of his hand finding mine, gripping it slowly. A feeling that’s different, nothing he’s ever done before. But I don’t mind.
“I couldn’t stay away from you, Junsu.”
And from that moment on, he wasn’t away from me. Not even for a minute. He stayed with me as much as he could, and I didn’t remember what loneliness felt like. There wasn’t loneliness. Not with him.
***
I never knew why he left, never knew what it was that made him go away. I’m sure it has something to do with that night, something to do with the snow and the igloo and how sick I am now. But I don’t think it really matters. It would’ve happened eventually anyway, but at least we got to finish everything that we could. We’re almost done with the cranes now. I can’t fold them very well anymore, but Yoochun still does while we sit and talk.
He talks a lot more now, and he’s a lot more open about everything. I’ve learned so much in just a couple of weeks about his brother, Ricky. His mother and his father and the way that they used to fight all the time, the way that his aunt hates his long hair and is threatening to make him cut it. I like it when he talks to me. I like to close my eyes and listen to the sound of his voice and pretend that everything is okay.
“Junsu.”
When he says my name like that, I know it means he’s going to tell me something important. I look up, ready to pay attention.
“Hm?”
“I wrote something for you.”
My stomach does a couple of flips in anticipation. For me? He wrote something? For some reason I find it hard to believe, but it’s the truth, and he proves it by pulling out the same crumpled piece of paper that I remember from before. The night when we had planted the tree.
There are scratches all over it, scribbles and notes and so many things that it seems almost impossible to understand all of them. At first I reach out, expecting him to hand it to me, but he doesn’t. Instead he looks at me, and I’m confused.
“I know I never told you this,” he says, seeming to be choosing his words carefully. “But I like to write music. Compose things …. They usually aren’t very good, but I guess you could say it’s a hobby.”
That would explain the piano. The way everything about him is so smooth, the way it all flows together so easily … Like music.
And he doesn’t have to give me an explanation. He doesn’t have to say anything, because then the melody is suddenly filling in all of the spaces in between us and I wouldn’t want to stop him for anything in the world, because he’s singing for me. Just for me.
It hurts to breathe, and I’m scared.