╭°• .₊̣̇.ෆ─────────────────╮

ꜱᴏ ꜰᴀʀ ᴀᴡᴀʏ

ɪꜰ ɪ ʜᴀᴅ ᴀ ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍ ᴏꜰ ꜰʟʏɪɴɢ ᴀᴡᴀʏ

ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ꜰᴀʟʟ ᴀᴡᴀʏ

ɪꜰ ɪ ʜᴀᴅ ᴀ ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍ ᴏꜰ ꜰʟʏɪɴɢ ᴀᴡᴀʏ

╰─────────────────°•*̑˟̑ෆ╯

___

I quickly ducked out of sight before Mr. Kim saw me. But I'm sure he knew, he always knew, like a priest who perceived all your sins.

The waxing crescent moon hung low in the night sky, making me believe I could seize it in my fingers if I strained far enough. But like my dreams, both the moon and the stars evaded me.

'That's alright,' I thought, 'I have the sun.'

But the way home never seemed more lonely.

___

Both my insides and my feet froze when my house came into view. Contemplating and fidgeting for what seemed like hours (and when the lone bench at the park seemed more than inviting), the front door opened, revealing my mother.

The look upon her face was not anywhere near welcoming or an expression that indicated any sense of happiness. I considered making a beeline for the park bench.

"You know," she started off--the calm before the storm, "Your sister stayed out late too. But it was to pursue her dreams of being a journalist. I don't see you working endlessly on your aspirations."

I've seen this all too many times before: she first talks of my sister--usually in a positive way--then gets right to the core of our arguments. At that moment, I realized my mother was a lot like Isabel. She begins to talk of saccharine achievements, then throws insults one after another.

"Tell me. What are your aspirations?"

"...I don't know."

A vein sprouted from my mother's temple in anger, "You don't know? You're in your second year of college, and you don't know? Your sister knew what she wanted to do the day she started highschool! If you even don't have goals then why are you staying out so late? Why can't you just make me happy? Why don't you ever try?"

I thought of all the suffocating moments around her, the look of pure venom in her gaze as she scrutinized my entire being whenever I was around. How her brows furrowed whenever she glanced at me. It seemed like the only thing in the way of her happiness was me.

But there was no way I was going to tell her that.

Biting my tongue, a string of unsatisfying words came out of my mouth, "I did try, Mother! I tried!"

I remember furiously studying for a test until my mind blurred the line between my name and that of my friend's dog's, only to get incorrect marks in return. How others threw careless glances and made dull remarks on artwork that I worked hours on end.

She scoffs, "Maybe go take another look at the dictionary? I don't think the definition of 'trying' includes staying out late."

I knew she was being bitter. I knew I was being bitter as well. But reader, you have to understand: it was difficult. I couldn't convey my thoughts outside my head no matter how much I tried. It was as if there was a barrier in my throat, preventing the words from coming out.

"Just because I stay out late doesn't mean that I don't try!"

My mother throws her hands in the air, "Then tell me, Minami! Please, enlighten me on the ways you do try."

My name rolled off her tongue with ease, but not in the way it does off of Hope's. The way she said it was like a curse-- a bitter condemn to spite the devil himself. Hope, on the other hand, said my name as if it were a melodious tune.

As if I myself were a melodious tune.

But I suddenly couldn't bring an answer to my mother.

'How did I try?' I rummaged my memories for an answer, but recollections of my effort had only gone back to middle school.

'And that was when...' I shook my head, refusing to finish the thought.

I had always been in the shadow of my sister, but I could never hate her; she did nothing wrong. It was me never meeting the expectations set by her. But even then, I did try. I worked even more after that incident to try and raise my mother's spirits. But they never worked.

'Forget this.' I thought, not wanting to deal with this any further.

"Goodnight," I ended the conversation, turning deaf toward my mother's calls.

"See?! You can't even provide an example! You don't try!"

And maybe she was right.

____

It hasn't been a week yet, but I still wound up going over to Hope's house. The thoughts that arose when I saw the cemetery again made me wonder my question once more.

'Has Hope ever experienced loss?'

I attempted to banish the thought, but it kept lingering, refusing to go away. Voices coming from the quaint house as I neared his doorstep, however, brought me out of my trance.

"You went to see him, right?" Hope asked, sounding muffled behind the walls.

Mr. Kim's charcoal-like voice replied, "Yeah..."

"How did it go?"

"...Not exactly amazing."

It was the first time since I've seen the sunshine slightly frown. Hope made an audible sigh, "You know it wasn't his fault."

"I know, I know, but he resembles him so much."

Mr. Kim continued, "It's not like I'm the only one with problems either. When are you going to tell Moonchild?"

'Moonchild...' I heard my nickname, were they talking about me? I wish I had studied Korean.

"I'm workng on it," Hope's response came out stiff as he ran his hand through his hair, "I just hope I can tell her before she finds out herself..."

Mr. Kim then gave a solemn nod before getting up.

"Take care," he said in Japanese.

I knew he meant it for both of us.

Deciding to be somewhat polite, I opened the door for him as he exited. It might've been my imagination, but I saw a shine in his eyes as they softened. He shot a quick smile my way and took off.

I wondered if the shine were tears.

"You're here early," he rolled up the sleeves of his hoodie, "not that I mind, of course."

"Lucky me, I see ghosts," it read.

Strange fashion choice, but I didn't question it.

"Nice hoodie."

"Hm?" he glanced down as if he forgot he was wearing it. A slightly panicked expression set upon his face, but he quickly regained composure.

He laughed nervously, "Oh! Thanks."

'Ghosts...'

"Hey...Have you ever experienced loss?" The sentence tumbled out from my lips before I could restrain them.

He flashed his dimples with a sad smile, "Yeah. A lot, actually. The loss of dreams, the loss of purpose, etc."

I knew that a story was brewing.

"But would you like to hear a story about someone else's loss?"

He didn't have to ask. He didn't even need an answer, for my reply would always be "Certainly."

"Once, long ago, there was a magician named Kim Taehyung..."

___

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HIOFJSIOFDLKFES Thank you lovelies for waiting patiently for this update!!! I better get an A on that essay or else-

Thank you so much, Koko for waiting kafjdskljgr I hope this chapter will sate your palate!

Enjoy reading~