The Panacea

The rest of the night passes calmly. As soon as the front door closes behind Han, and instead of fresh street air, some warm and stale bursts into his lungs. He immediately wanted to get closer to the window. His mother has been asleep for a long time, the house was unusually quiet without Sua. He is sure that if the babygirl had been at home, she still would not have fallen asleep, would have been waiting for him. But now she is lounging in bed at a party or watching cartoons with her friend in secret from Yoonmi's parents and having a good time. Sleep comes almost as soon as the tired body meets the made-up bed. His already exhausted strength is finally leaving him, and Jisung spends the next five-seven hours in blackness, instead of colorful dreams. It is better than having nightmares. He was so exhausted today... Despite this, he thought about the guys all the way home. Suddenly, he realized how well and easily the last three hours had passed. During this time, he never thought about the situation at home, about the quarrel with his mother, and in general about the problems that await him in everyday life. All this was somehow forgotten, faded into the background. It was as if he had found another universe where no one knew him, judged him, or bothered. The heavy stone no longer pressed on his chest, making him suffocate. Reality did not seem so disgusting anymore, and it was getting easier to breathe. It was really pleasant and comfortable in the company, so much so that Jisung is sure, blowing out the candles for his birthday, he would definitely wish that this night would not end. A part of his soul rejoiced, as if the guy had found a gold mine and was going to make money hand over fist. He could not help but smile at the Prince's jokes that were still in his mind. From the constant return to recent memories, the thirty-minute walk home felt like it had been cut three times. Before entering the entrance, when Jisung finally returned to reality, he thought that would gladly repeat it. Yes, he definitely needs another night like this. It is only in the morning, when he brews coffee in an empty apartment and puts some things back in their places because they were scattered during his mother's morning rush, that he realizes he does not know where to look for the guys now. They did not leave any of their contacts, addresses, or social networks. Nothing. Oh hell, he does not even know their real names. The only thing that Jisung knows is their nicknames, and the place of their first meeting. And then he comes to a dead end. The coffee turns out to be unusually bitter, Han does not like this. There is no milk at home because no one took care to buy it. He throws two cubes of refined sugar into a mug and stirs the resulting body with a spoon. Jisung likes soft, sweetened coffee with milk. But life apparently does not give a fuck about what he likes, so he has to drink what is available if he does not want to pass out while working at the computer. Today he woke up tired again. His head feels heavy as usual and the guy hopes that at least coffee will save him. He puts the mug on the table next to his laptop and sits down on a squeaky black chair on wheels, bending his left leg under him. If he tries, he will finish the text today and immediately receive the money. And the bitter taste of cheap coffee, not broken with milk, makes him work faster. In addition, there is a new order letter in the mail. This time they are asking for grammatical edits in an article on some kind of biological research. And since Jisung had a solid B-plus in Korean, a high exam score and innate literacy, he also provides such services. Almost all of his work is concentrated in this old laptop, except for a rare part-time job as a flyer sticker, but he does this when money is very tight. The clock in the corner of the screen shows 11:27, and he involuntarily thinks that very soon he will need to pick up Sua. Discharged yesterday, the phone was still lying turned off on the bed, surprisingly still one-piece. Jisung thinks he should put it on charge and reaches for the wire. He finishes the last verse within the next hour and a half, checks for some mistakes and sends the file to the customer. He answers when the guy puts on his sneakers and goes down the stairs. «The text is fucking great, thank you» the caption attached to the remittance is lit. Jisung puts the headphones in his ears and places the phone back in his pocket. I feel numb, I can't come to life. I feel like I'm frozen in time. The song World so cold — Three Days Grace has gorgeous basses, despite the fact that they are not at all for these simple headphones, which barely take out such music. Jisung likes it anyway. This voice, breaking into a scream, like his own sometimes, the guitar hitting the ears, which is almost deafening if you make the sound at full volume. And he allows himself to close his eyes, dissolving into the melody, whispering the memorized words. I'm too young to lose my soul, I'm too young to feel this old, So long I'm left behind... I feel like I'm losing my mind. And Jisung feels like the main character of this song. It is like the lyrics are entirely written about him. For a while, he did not remove this song from the repeat at all, which is quite strange for him. Usually the music starts to fuck him up after five consecutive auditions. But not this song. It is colder today than yesterday. No rain was promised, but the sky is overcast. In principle, Jisung does not care, he just needs to pick up his sister and then he will sit at the computer all evening, non-stop tapping on the keyboard. The guy inhales the cool air and zips up his black sweatshirt. He wonders, where these strange guys are now? Is the little one still being sarcastic to the elders or is he a good boy during the day? Is Lee Know always this grumpy and touchy? Han catches himself every time he comes back to thinking about last night. But he can not help it. He feels much calmer in these memories than in reality. He does not even notice how he approaches the house and mechanically presses the bell button. A couple of minutes later, a slightly disheveled Jiwon opens the door with a smile on the face. Her hands are stained with flour, and a blue apron is tied around her waist. — Hi, — she brushes a strand of hair off her face. — Hello, — Jisung nods his head out of habit and smiles back today. Noona visibly relaxes. — Come on in, she hasn't started packing yet, — the guy prays that the get-togethers will not last long. He really wants to get off work for today and spend the rest of the day lying in bed like a rag doll that children have successfully forgotten about. The Kang family's house smells of delicious pancakes. The appetite wakes up by itself when the woman brings him into the kitchen and offers tea in the old-fashioned way. Of course, he agrees, because the filthy coffee he drank in the morning and a cheese sandwich made hastily before going out did not satisfy his hunger at all. As soon as the kettle boils, the woman pours boiling water into mugs and puts one of them in front of Jisung along with a plate of pancakes. Behind her is the remains of the dough and a hot frying pan. Han can not remember if his mother ever cooked pancakes at home. No, probably not. Throughout his childhood, he ate scrambled eggs or cereal in the morning, or did not eat anything at all. Later, when he grew up, only tried to make pancakes once. Then they all turned out badly. — Don't be shy, take it, — she says, sipping from her mug, and goes into the room to call Sua. A few seconds later, the sister runs into the kitchen and throws her arms around Jisung's neck. He only has time to put the mug on the table, otherwise both of them would be in hot water right now. — Did you have a good time? — An awesome time! — The girl exclaims right in his ear and pulls away. — It was so cool, we did so much, — her eyes light up as she tells her brother about everything that happened that night. — Okay, okay, — he interrupts her, grinning, — let's get together and tell me more on the way. Is it okay? — That's fine. Sua disappears behind the door, and Jisung finally takes a pancake and bites off a small piece of it. Admittedly, although Han has admitted this for a very long time, Jiwon's cooking is amazing. He even thought of taking a couple of recipes from her, but then realized that it was unlikely that they were the case. You just need to have your hands in the right place. Golden, like Lee Know's, would probably be great. — How are things at home? — Noona asks and squints at his split lip. Jisung just shrugs his shoulders. — That's fine. — Are you sure? — I'm sure. — And what about the lip? — Han seems to be flattered by her concern, but curiosity is unnecessary in this situation. As is the truth. — We're under interrogation, or something, — it comes out a little rudely, but the next second the guy stews and looks away. — Ran into a jamb. — M-m, I see, — the conversation is fading. Jisung is happy. Why would she want to know the details, right? Finally, he throws her a «Thank you for the tea and pancakes», giving the woman a modest smile, takes his sister by the arm and goes outside. All the way home, Sua chirps about the night she spent with her friend and does not seem to see brother's split lip, she is not even interested. But he still noticed her gaze in the kitchen, falling on the reddening wound. And even though it was received in a completely different place, Han realized: he had not kept his promise. They walk home through the park, because Sua really wanted to see the ducks in the pond and take a longer walk with her brother. Well, what about him? He can not refuse these puppy eyes, so instead of taking a short cut through the yards, Jisung turns into the park. The place is quite small, it rather resembles a square, but in the evenings beautiful garlands are lit here. The sister runs up to the water and stops at the very shore, on the grass. So far, it is still cool outside and the ground is not warming up, so he categorically forbids her to take off her shoes. Sua does not get upset at all and stretches out her hand to a passing bird. Han prays that she will not splash into the water and get soaked to the skin. They do not need it. He sits down on a bench and folds his hands, interlacing the fingers. Watches as the girl runs along the shore, laughing and holding out her hand to the frightened ducks. They are probably going to have a heart attack now. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices the silhouette of a kid shifting around at a food stand. Jisung squints to get a better look and thinks it would not hurt to fork out for lenses, otherwise he feels like a mole, for God's sake. The heart leapt. He recognizes the kid as Min-min. — Min-min, — takes two sweeping steps, getting up from the bench, and immediately finds himself next to him. The guy almost jumps on the spot, holding bags of punoppan in his hands. — It's good that I met you, — Han smiles, examining him. Exactly Min-min, back in his shirt, like yesterday, and the hair is the same. Dressed to the nines. He does not have time to say anything, Jisung continues to chatter. He is all on edge right now. Wow, the universe itself is giving him chances. — I thought I'd never see you or the guys again. Listen, I mean, give me Chris's number or yours. I enjoyed hanging out with you so much yesterday, it would be great to do it again. Gimme a sec… Jisung reaches into his pocket and tries to fish his phone out of it, at the moment a voice calls out to them from the side: — Son, who are you with there? — Min immediately tenses up, panicking, running his eyes over Jisung's face and can not even utter a word. — Is this your friend? — A woman standing at a distance with a man and looking at her son. — No, Mom, I don't know him at all, — he immediately replies, and the smile slowly fades from Jisung's face. What does it mean, does not know? — What do you mean? — he is indignant aloud and loudly. This is not typical of Han. He does not tend to hold onto people, but something is clearly going wrong. And he really does not like lies. — Oh damn, yesterday we were hanging out in the gang! — Boy, I don't know any gang, — Min stares into Jisung's eyes and speaks loudly so that his mom can hear. — I was making my project all day yesterday and went to bed at nine. You must have confused me with someone else. And he leaves, clutching punoppan to himself. The woman looks at the dumbfounded Jisung one last time with a look full of suspicion and takes her son by the arm. Min obediently walks beside her. And Han is standing at the fucking snack stand and does not get what the fuck just happened.

***

He has not been able to work at all all evening. He could not eat properly, and towards nightfall could not sleep either. He missed half of the mistakes and typos in the ordered text and decided that he would finish this work tomorrow. It would not hurt to get a good night's sleep today, maybe because of lack of sleep his brain refuses to work. But really, he keeps thinking about fucking Min-min or whatever his real name is. «Boy, I don't know any gang.» Does he take him for a fool or something? It could not have been just hallucinations, as it seemed later. Jisung has not lost his marbles yet to invent friends for himself and scamper around the streets with them at night. This is no longer social phobia, but some kind of schizophrenia turns out. But he still believes that this gang is not made up, and Min is just a much bigger asshole than Han assumed. But he really looks like a good boy. But that is not what is most upsetting. How to contact the guys now is the main question. He thinks about it already lying in bed, while his mother, who recently came home from work and did not even bother to come into their room, turns wearily behind the wall. The guy is sure she did not notice Sua's absence yesterday either. She probably screamed enough and went to bed. Sometimes Han regrets that I-don't-give-a-fuckitude is not inherited, it would be very useful for him. It is getting unpleasant at home again. Everything seems somehow different, wrong, unnecessary again. Wants to run away again. To breathe in the sharp icy air, let go of thoughts and soar over the city like a bird, in no way tied to earthly life. To forget yourself in someone else's laughter and in the darkness of the night hiding the sleeping city. To feel yourself among your own. Understood and finally not so lonely. Sua also gets into bed, covers herself with a blanket up to her chin and looks at her brother for a long time. He stares blankly at the ceiling. Somewhere under the skin, the nerves are unpleasantly tickled. — Jisung-ah, — she calls softly, afraid to disturb. He hums back. — Does Mom love us? It is like he is being punched in the gut, all the air is knocked out of his lungs. He was waiting for anything: why is there a wound on his lip, whether it would be possible to visit Yoonmi again with a sleepover, whether he would help her with her lessons tomorrow. Anything but that. — Well, — Jisung drawls and makes a strangled exhale. There is not a single thought in the head, not a single excuse. Despite the fact that Han cannot even answer this question to himself. Does she love them? Had she ever loved them at all? Sua is no longer a baby, and understands that if people love, they do not hurt. Love should be warm, affectionate, sometimes trembling, sometimes hot, but it should not hurt. Especially physically. She understands that. Jisung understands too. But the tangle of thoughts does not unravel from this understanding. On the contrary, it begins to grow even more. All his childhood, he asked himself exactly the same question. «Does she love me?». And wanted to believe that really loves. When you are little, you do not need anything but simple hugs and the words «Very well» to understand that you and what you are doing is important. This does not really change with age. We all think that love is something deep and subtle that breaks easily, which requires a lot of time and effort. In fact, just words of support and a kiss on the forehead are enough, as if saying that I am here, I am with you, and we can face every challenge. But as a child, Jisung was neither called a good boy, nor kissed on the forehead. But for some reason he still cannot say that his mother does not love him and that he does not love her. After all, if she died, he would definitely cry... would not he? After all, he has dreams where she leaves him alone, and he considers such dreams to be nightmares for a reason. He does not want to be alone. But is the fear of complete loneliness considered love? The heart aches painfully, but the flow of thoughts cannot be stopped. The tangle keeps twisting and twisting, and the end of the thread is still not visible. Has there ever been love in their family? If the father loved the mother, he would not have left them, would not have run away like a coward, maybe he would have shown some signs of life. Although, little would have changed from that. He and his mother are worth each other. Maybe that is why they did not get along? Is it true that opposites attract? But even if they had tried a little, if only they had even tried, given him two minutes of their attention, maybe then Jisung would have answered without hesitation that yes, they loved him. If only they had shown him at least once that he was not an empty place at all, that his opinion meant something in this family. If only his mom had not raised her hand against him for every wrongdoing, if only his dad had wished him a happy birthday even on the fucking phone. If only, if only, if only. Maybe then, the word «parents» would not be so lousy for Jisung. Love. «Love» is on the tip of his tongue and for some reason does not feel at all. The word is kind of... empty, it seems to Jisung. He is eighteen now. He lies on a heated with his own body bed in a stuffy little room and realizes that knows absolutely nothing about love. He probably really loves Sua. Is ready to give his life for her, but this is not what they write about in books. And he thinks that, most likely, he will never be able to experience this feeling sung by people in all its glory. It is supposed to be warm, like a soft blanket wrapped around during a terrible storm or like hot tea with lemon. Although Jisung hates this sour stuff, he is a true coffee lover. In any case, it makes his soul feel disgusting and bitter from these reflections, and Han temporarily regrets that was born with brains. Thinking about love, and about any other feelings at all, is equal to studying philosophy or psychology — you will never find a single way out. There are more forks here than in the Seoul subway. — Love is a complicated thing, you know, — he finally answers and hopes that Sua will understand everything on her own. — Doesn't love, then, — Jisung turns his head to her, stopping to contemplate the ceiling. — I didn't say that, it's just... — exhales and closes his eyes. He was so tired, — it is just hard to explain. I never understand our mother myself. I ask myself the same question, but haven't found the answer yet, — he decides that being honest in this case is just a win-win option. Sua is not such a little girl, will surely understand everything. — Actually, love is not complicated, — she says after a short pause, — these people are complicated, but love is not, — and turns to the wall, leaving Jisung alone with the phrase she just dropped. Even when the hand of the clock passes midnight, he cannot close his eyes. Ideas swarm in the head and sting his consciousness like bees. With all these reflections on love and the impermanence of existence, Han will soon bring himself to the grave. It gets hot and uncomfortable in the bed — he gets up. He shuffles across the floor again, this time with bare feet, to the balcony. The view is still disgusting, the city is still quiet, and the railings are cold. Closes his eyes, inhales and throws his head back. He is visited by a sharp sense of deja vu. And he even knows what will happen now. But nothing happens after a minute or two. The street remains as quiet as ever. No one runs under his balcony, laughs, or shouts. It is unfortunate. Frustrating. Wrong. Waits for another five minutes until his body is covered with goosebumps. Today he went out in just a black T-shirt, but it is not a bit warmer outside than last time. Spring is kind of cold this year. Five more minutes. No one shows up. Han gets tired of waiting. He clenches his fists on the hardware one last time and pulls away. He opens the door and, entering the apartment, closes it behind him too roughly for standing silence. Grabs the same hoodie from the hanger and goes out into the entrance hall. Today, his head is not filled with anger, adrenaline is not racing through his veins, he sees the world clearly, as if through a clear glass. He understands everything, feels everything, and is aware of everything. All his actions are real, all his desires are sincere. Footsteps echo off the peeling entrance walls, and Jisung thinks he will leave this place one day. Will take Sua with him, and together they will live a wonderful life thousands of kilometers from this filthy town. It is bound to happen someday. But now he runs out of the entrance onto the street illuminated by a lantern and trudges, trudges, trudges. He walks the streets for a long time. He takes a long look at the signs, the brickwork, the cracks in the sidewalks. After an hour of empty wandering, it gets boring. Jisung has not found anyone, has not heard other people's voices, laughter, nothing. It is as quiet as still water. He comes to the pallets, but today the truck is no longer there and the guys are not here either. Without noticing it, he sighs sadly and walks on, not even going into the gap between the shops. Eventually, he sits down on a bench and puts his heavy head in his hands. What should I do? «Just stay out of there. We may not be there next time.» Han still remembers the Prince's admonition not to go into that alley anymore. And for some reason he listens. Today, the prospect of getting slapped in his face again is not encouraging, and he wants to stay alive. But the thought that he may be incredibly lucky and it is there that he will meet the desired company again does not leave him in any way. Jisung is holding on with all his might. Wants a drink. He thinks maybe there is a beer left in the fridge at home that his mother did not drink. Hopes for this, because today he does not need such a sober mindset. The phone screen lights up with the numbers 2:35 when Jisung gets up from the bench and goes home on a detour. Maybe they are hanging out in a different neighborhood today? Are they busy today or have they changed their route? He wants so much to justify them and meet again, but hope is fading with every passing hour. The apartment is dark. The guy flicks the switch in the kitchen and a dim light illuminates the space. He sits down at the table and sighs wearily. Does not want coffee anymore today, even with milk. And, alas, there is no beer in the fridge. The head is buzzing with disordered thoughts. He will not be able to sleep again today. Turns out the light, leaves his hoodie on the hanger in the hallway and falls onto the straightened bed. It smells like baby soap and quite a bit of dust, as always, but this smell has not seemed familiar to Jisung for a long time. He finds headphones in his pants pocket. There are twenty percent on the phone and a World So Cold widget with a repeat icon. Han presses play. He is too young...

***

In the morning, the sun is bright, it breaks through the tulle and blinds the eyes through the closed eyelids. Jisung is grimacing in bed, burying his nose into a soft pillow, pulling the covers over his head. At night, the headphones fell out of his ears and got lost somewhere in the sheets. He fell asleep closer to five in the morning and did not even notice it. The music is no longer playing — the phone is dead. Han feels his legs, unaccustomed to exertion, aching from night walks. Just remembering it makes the tongue feel somehow bitter. The mother has a day off today — Han's least favorite days, which usually mean that he will have to spend all his time in his room, keeping a low profile if he does not want to grab something again. Of course, this usually does not stop anyone and you can get a kick-ass even for breathing, but still, when they are separated by the concrete wall and the plywood door, it becomes easier. Han lies in bed for a while, stretching. The sleepy fog still has not let go of his head, and the guy does not remember at all about what happened last night, does not remember his thoughts and feelings. It is like a new day starts with a clean slate. But this continues exactly until the moment when he finally opens his eyes to the light from the window and the memory begins to recover piece by piece. He tosses and turns for a long time, crumples the blanket at his feet and bunts the edge of the pillow with his head. Finding the strength to get up seems like an unbearable burden to him, and going and making breakfast is even worse. But the stomach rumbles mercilessly, reminding him that the last time he ate was yesterday on the visit, and the straightened bed opposite says that he probably is not the only one who wants to eat here. As expected, only Sua is sitting in the kitchen. She dangles her bare feet, scratching something with colorful pencils on paper, and looks so focused and thoughtful that Jisung involuntarily smiles. Watching her was the most precious thing in the world, and he would not trade it for anything. — Good morning, — Han yawns and leans on the table. Sua raises her head. — Morning. — Do you want to eat? — she returns to the drawing, and Jisung continues without waiting for an answer, — I'll make scrambled eggs. The sister makes a muffled sound. He clicks a button on the stove, and the burner lights up with a blue flame. Takes three eggs out of the fridge and breaks them into a frying pan on the stove. While the oil sizzles loudly and shoots under the metal lid, Jisung leans against the counter with his hip. Sua continues to draw multicolored lines on the sheet, and Jisung can already make out a field of flowers, birds, and the dawning dawn in the sky with a huge yellow sun, which she is just beginning to paint over. Han knows that his sister likes to draw, and she does it very well. He even has a folder of her work in his desk somewhere. They are still childishly simple, but much better than the usual doodles, which he painted at her age. Jisung thinks he will definitely register her in art school later. Just cannot lose Sua's talent the way his mother lost his. He missed so much in childhood, just because his mother did not take care of him. Always had to carry all his studies on himself from the very beginning, no one helped even with the most basic problems. Even in the first grade, the boy had learned that asking for any kind of help from his parents was more expensive. For two hours afterwards, he listened to screams that he had no brains. By the way, no one helped him with the task. He got a «C». Wow, eleven years have passed, and he still remembers this incident. His parents were also never interested in his son's hobbies, such as music. The father said it was useless warbles, and the mother completely ignored any attempts by the son to reach her. However, she did this with absolutely everything. Any other parents would be happy to have such gifted and talented children, but this is not the case, and Jisung has managed to get used to it over the years. It is much easier than it seems to children from prosperous families to get used to living in such conditions. It is just that you do not have to get used to it at all. He had never lived with another family, had never been treated differently, in a normal way. No one told Han how much they loved him or read him bedtime stories. No one wished a good night or gave any birthday presents. He never had that normal family that everyone always talks about. For him, this is literally something from the category of fiction. Previously, when he looked at happy children and listened to stories at school, he often wondered «Why don't I have the same?». It often became insulting and the pillow in the evenings got wet from bitter boyish tears. But not now. He is not offended anymore. It does not hurt anymore. And then, as if on cue, he remembers, until the pleasant smell of fried food begins to reach his nose. The birth of Sua, quarrels, quarrels, divorce and more quarrels, quarrels. And it became somehow not up to himself, not up to his problems. Had to unload someone else's. The mother began to change jobs frequently, And now, she has been delayed and has steadily brought home at least some money for the past two years. Not always completely, of course, sometimes the salary is spent on distributing debts that came from nowhere, booze or cigarettes. And then there are some permanent men, whom Han can not stand, and Sua, thank God, hardly sees. Otherwise, if they had even tried to approach her, the guy swears he would have strangled them with his own hands. There is still no sound in the next room. Usually, a mother does not miss the opportunity to walk around and grumble, spoiling the mood for everyone except herself. But not today. Strange. — She's not here, — Sua reads his mind, without looking up from the drawing. — When I woke up, she was gone. She does not have the old lump in her voice anymore, and tears do not come to her eyes like they used to. The tone is calm and even cold. This is not a reproach, not a disappointment, but just a statement of fact. She has gone. — She's coming, — it is not clear who Jisung is assuring more, himself or his sister, but carefully suppresses a semblance of a smile and turns back to the stove. — I know. She has nowhere else to go. And she is right. The mother always returns home, because this is the only place where she is more or less expected. At one time she was gone for four days in a row, and the guy was already thinking that he would have to look for another part-time job to pay for this shack on his own. She returned on the fifth day. He found her sleeping under the door when he went out to school. To this day, Jisung remembers how tears of injustice burned his eyes as he dragged his mother home, undressed her, and put her to bed. Why does he, an ordinary sixteen-year-old boy, have to do this? Should not it be the other way around? He was late for the first two lessons and was severely reprimanded by the teacher. Also stayed on duty in the classroom after school. He removes the pan from the heat and puts it on a stand. The memories no longer make him angry, they just exist and there is no way to change them. We do not choose our parents, and Han did not, so there is no one to complain to. — Thank you, — Sua finally smiles at him when the guy puts a plate of fried eggs in front of her. She puts down her unfinished drawing and starts eating. They are silent while they eat, but the girl is constantly fidgeting in place, as if wants to ask something. When she finally finishes and gives the plate to her brother to wash it too, he breaks down and says: — Ask away. I can see you want to. She shifts from one foot to the other in place under his gaze. — Your lip… what happened? — She points her finger at his face, and Han gets lost for a moment. She still thinks Mom did it. Jisung may be a good liar, but he hardly ever had to lie in front of Sua. And now… What should he tell her? — I just hit the doorjamb yesterday morning. You know, I'm usually blind in the morning, — he grins and squats down in front of her. — Is it really not Mom who did this? You promised me. It is not Mom, he thinks, but I did not keep my promise anyway. — Of course I promised… It's not Mom, — he cuts off and lowers his head. — Really, Sua, I'm not lying. — Okay, I believe you, — she smiles affectionately and runs her palm over his shoulder. Her touch is so gentle and, so far, so small. But once she grows up, those hands will look so much like her mother's ones... Jisung hopes that this will never happen. That Sua would always remain a babe for him. She puts her arms briefly around his neck, and he puts his arm around her waist, patting her on the back as always. The girl grabs a drawing with pencils and runs into the room. He stays to wash the dishes. Involuntarily touches the wound on his lip, which is already covered with a crust, but still does not want to heal, and remembers. He searched his mind the whole time before passing out, but it did not seem to be enough. Jisung should probably forget about it. To give up all attempts to find these guys, not to try to contact them in any way, just to imagine that it really was a hallucination. Does not Min's reaction confirm this? Does not that mean these guys do not fucking need him? Well, they helped once out of the kindness of their hearts, and he immediately followed them like a stray dog, as if they were the meaning of his life now. To be honest, Han really does not understand why tries. Why is he thinking about them so much and trying to find them? Maybe he really is so wild that he lacks simple communication with people, or maybe… Maybe the reason lies in something else. The memories of that atmosphere, the conversations, the jokes, it all pulls him back. Now he just wants to punch himself in the face with his hand, because it was incredibly stupid not to ask them for even an elementary phone number. But Jisung was incredibly lucky to be born a guy with brains. He went through a bunch of possible options, from the fact that they were just walking around different neighborhoods to the fact that their company was some kind of forbidden Korean ghetto. And in the end, he decided to try his luck on the same day, at the same hour, in the same place where they met. The idea seems to him as dumb and brilliant as possible at the same time. In any case, he tells himself, it never hurts to try. And even if it hurts, it has been worse. The hardest part of all this is holding out for a whole week. It is only a week, others would think, but for Jisung it will be a time full of self-torment and psychological pressure on his brain, when he will have to distract himself with anything again. He turns off the water, closes his eyes, leans on the sink, and inhales deeply. Needs to calm his thoughts. The lemon smell of dish detergent still hits his nose. The taste of slop is in his mouth — he has not brushed his teeth yet. An unedited article is still waiting for him in his laptop. And only now, glancing at the half-empty jar of instant coffee, Jisung realizes. He has not bought the milk.