midnight

hope had always been an easy concept for daeun to grasp. no matter how much bad was going on in her life, it had always been easy for daeun to hold onto hope that things would turn around. so when moonjin first brushed her off, she told herself he just needed time. a lot was happening and he needed time to adjust. and she was willing to give him that time. but as time went on, she eventually gave up on the hope that she would get him back. they would forever be stuck in silence, avoiding each other’s gaze, shying away from an interactions. 

who knew if this conversation would even lead anywhere? while she wanted  to regain that sense of hope, part of daeun was tired of being disappointed and was assuming the worst. what if he hadn’t asked to talk to her to apologize? what if his explanation led to nothing more than resentment?

she knew no one would miss her as she slipped away into an unoccupied room with moonjin. people were used to her getting distracted and wandering off, almost like a puppy. daeun looked expectedly up at him as he began talking, hoping her expression remained neutral. she wanted to forgive him instantly, because that’s the type of person daeun was. but over the years, she learned that second, third, fourth chances had a habit of leading to heart break. she wasn’t sure how much of that she could take anymore.

“i’ve never been mad at you for closing up or turning away,” she admitted. maybe she didn’t completely understand what was happening in his mind, but she understood that distance helped when dealing with something. “i just didn’t think it would be forever. or at least as long as it was. it just hurt to know that i was that disposable.” she had to pause to swallow the lump in her throat and stop the tears that were threatening to fall. “i didn’t think there would be a time in your life where you decided that things would be better if i wasn’t around.”

despite her words, she reached out and placed a hand on moonjin’s arm. “i really missed you.”

Out of all the things Moonjin had done and gone through over the years, this moment was, surprisingly, among the worst – or perhaps that wasn't surprising at all, for the abundance of love he carried within himself had always been both his biggest strength and eternal downfall. With Daeun, it was almost like he was reverting back to the person he had been back then, back before he had willed, had forced, himself to change to adapt to their environment. Even more than he could ever be or had been, she had always been kind and soft, and he couldn't possibly hate himself more for harming instead of protecting that inherent goodness she possessed. (It was admirable how little she appeared to have let the world change her – a sign of strength he wished he'd had.)

A sigh slipped past his lips – not exasperated or annoyed, more like he was trying to breathe away pain, though he'd long since learned that that didn't work for emotional wounds – and he was quick to shake his head. “Please don't think that,” he said, voice now lower as though he was sharing a secret, whereas in truth, it was the only way not to sound too emotional when he had no right to be. “You were never disposable.”

His teeth sunk into his bottom lip as he paused to gather himself, to find words that would be able to make sense of what had been going on in his head throughout the time they hadn't spoken, but that was the point – it made no sense; not in retrospect, at least, not anymore. “I cut everyone out, all at once. No exceptions. No matter how wrong it felt, I thought it was necessary. That I couldn't get hurt if no one was around.” Nonsense was the only word that kept floating around in his head – it was nonsense, like a child refusing to sleep ever again because they worried there could be a monster under their bed. “But that didn't work. It just left me with a void I couldn't fill, no matter how hard I tried.”

There – that was it. A truth he had withheld for years, from everyone, one among many that had stacked up over time, yet it came easily now, no hesitation. Perhaps it was because it was Daeun, because he remembered all too vividly a time he hadn't kept any secrets from her, or maybe it was because this was the least he could offer – if nothing else, he owed her this. With her hand on his arm, he almost reached out to hug her, but stopped short for fear of overwhelming, of pushing her, and instead simply placed a hand on her shoulder. (An odd picture they must have made, no doubt, but he was far too focused to notice.)

“I don't think there was a single moment I didn't miss you.” Habitual honesty, as if he'd never learned to hide his weaknesses – Daeun was a memory of a time he'd had no fear, and he was slipping back into it all too easily. (Still soft. Still weak.)

Time slowed down, she always thought that she would be prepared to see him again. She wasn’t, her mind was off somewhere else while she kept seldom smile on her face. Not as bright as the other guests and MCs. To viewers, she was the same old ice princess minhee. Just one good thing about being known as such, doesn’t have to act so cheerful all the time. Helps her with her brooding about the past.  All the good times they had, their first kiss, raw deep moments, then it came to a stop. He just - became distant. Slowly they saw each other less and less, later ending their relationship.

If it wasn’t for her youngest member letting her know that a break was announced, she would still be sitting there, dazed out. Clinging on to the other’s arm, being guided through the halls as she was also like many others were exhausted. Coffee wasn’t really an option, as she already had a large cup and was sure that if she consumed anymore she’ll be travelling through time.

Mumbling a goodbye as the other female left to get coffee. She was alone with her thoughts. A part of her wanted to find Moonjin. To at least speak to him, the first man she ever truly loved with all her heart. But what exactly could they talk about? 

Texting back a friend whom texted her while her phone was off. Hearing the dressing room door open, she didn’t look up, figuring it was her member coming back. Eyebrows furrowed when a familiar old voice greeted her. Just like that, the past began to replay. So many memories, the heartbreak, the wounds now slowly beginning to bleed. Should she talk to him? If she does perhaps it’ll finally give her ‘closure’ on as to why they ended. “I-…yes, we can talk.”

The smile that mercifully graced his features to mask the uncertainty beneath was weak at best, for whereas he had vowed to make changes that year and confronting his past had been among them, it was always easier said than done. Memories were a deceitful thing, tricking him into believing things could be different between them right now, if only he had fought a little harder, if only he had been a little stronger – if only. But the truth remained, hard and bitter, that the boy she'd loved was no more and would never be again.

For a moment, he actually had to remind himself what he had initiated the conversation for, because the look she gave him and the words she offered struck a chord within him that threw him off momentarily, his thoughts a tangled mess. An explanation – that was what he had come to give her, yet he didn't even know where to start. “It's good to see you,” slipped from his lips instead, and he almost flinched at how wrong that sounded to his ears, despite it being the truth.

“I realized I wasn't fair to you,” he was quick to continue therefore, before he got even more lost in himself, “Back then.” His gaze was uncharacteristically soft as it rested on her – an old habit, perhaps –, and he didn't hesitate to be open with her. If anyone was to be trusted, wasn't it Minhee, who had held his heart and kept it safe for years, who had had a million opportunities to hurt him and never did? (In the end, it had been him.)

“About the things that made me pull back – about why I changed.” So he told her now, started where he had left off back then – back when he had almost become a member of Alien. His tone of voice was calm as he told her about the phone call he had received, alerting him of the accident his best friend had supposedly been in, about how he had completely forgotten the final evaluation in his worry and panic and had instead ran to the hospital on foot – about how it had all been a lie to get him to miss the decisive moment at the company, and all his trainee friends had been in on it. There, he paused for a second, as if contemplating whether he should go on, but he did, eventually. After having come this far, it was only right to go all the way – so he also told her about how it had changed him and his view of the world, how bitter and distrustful it had made him, and, finally, how it had led him to believe it would be best to distance himself from everyone – absolutely everyone. (Even her.)

“I should have told you sooner, I know. I'm sorry.”

“You know what’s cool? We made it through our first dates and we’re still best friends.”

she pictured this interaction quite differently than how it was currently playing out. in her vivid and mildly outrageous imagination, hyunmi saw the confrontation as an altercation: moonjin telling her she was a nuisance, to scram. none of the sort happened. he was eerily tranquil—or robotic, and she was pleasantly dismayed by it. blinking, lips shaped to a faint purse, she studied moonjin’s façade, the veneer he wore of dark circles and minimal shifts in facial expressions; by no means was she judging him nor scrutinizing his present appearance with a checklist on a clipboard. a calming shadow swarmed him in gentle breezes, brisk but not cold—not nipping at cheeks. a comfortable kind of wind of blue and lavender. serene, silent, a pond reflecting hues of a docile autumn sunset. she could see why mina and hana gravitated towards him; there was more than met the eye.

had hyunmi trained longer at gold star—had she been around since she was fourteen maybe they’d be on friendly terms. however, she burst in too late and spent little months honing the skills she had acquired from bce to familiarize herself with moonjin, his group and many others. despite that, hyunmi had hana, mina, hyemin and skye, a comfortable clutch of friends that hyunmi found no clause to extend connections. (and possessed lesser reasons to befriend boys.) in whatever angle hyunmi peered, it was a shame; impulse was her favourite male group, yet they were strangers in her eyes and acted upon whims she heard about in shapes of rumours and gossip. “i am not good at cleaning. i might be in more trouble afterwards than before.” chills pricked, and she shuddered, shoulders settling unevenly—tch, posture.

his invitation was startling, but hyunmi kept her mask from fluctuating. moonjin had to be nice. regardless of his all-too-serious demeanour, he must be kind. why else would he offer his sanctuary to her? why should he feel the need to protect her from scoldings she rightfully deserved? “ah, it wouldn’t be polite of me to decline, hm” murmured to herself, hyunmi stood and glanced at the fork in the road: stay and be in direct fire of any passing instructors for being un-idol like or follow moonjin blindly, beckoned by the trust her friends poured on him than anything else? “thanks, sunbaenim, but don’t you think i’ll just bother you?” a step closer to him, and hyunmi’s choice was made. “i mean i’ll keep it down, of course. i heard impulse was working on a comeback, and i don’t want to bother you.” or break your last straw.

Finally, finally, a smile reached his lips, undeniably but a small change of expression, yet significant in the way it instantly softened his features some – light always did appear brighter if surrounded by darkness, and Moonjin had just lit a candle in a pitch-black room. Despite the circumstances, Hyunmi was not unpleasant company, he realized, though he was quick to brush the thought aside again – those were not things he wasted his brain capacity on. (Maybe it was because part of him, however tiny and suppressed, sometimes yearned for company on these long days and nights he spent with nothing but his own thoughts to fill the void; maybe there were times he wished for an inmate in this cell he had built for himself, but every time without fail, he was quick to remind himself that albeit pleasant, people were a distraction, and he had things to do before he could allow himself the luxury of comfort.)

“You can't be good at everything,” Moonjin replied with a shrug of his shoulders, like he didn't hold himself to an unrealistic standard of perfection all too often, though a hint of amusement swayed in his voice, for thus far, he hadn't thought it possible to not be good at cleaning, “I don't think that's something that should get you in trouble.” Should, he said, not would, because he knew full-well that the decisions those in power made didn't need to be logical – who was there to question them (and get away with it)?

Although he couldn't quite catch her words, Hyunmi's hesitation was obvious and perhaps that would have been puzzling to most, but not him – not when there were so many people who would rather keep their distance from him, and especially not when he would have done the same. His smile widened when eventually she did accept, though, and he wasted no time in stepping back towards the door to hold it open for her, like the good sunbae he was when he remembered to be. “Not unless you make an active effort to, no,” he answered, honesty in place of empty promises – he didn't doubt her ability to be a bother, but it was hard to accidentally test his patience (the perks of having lived in dorms full of lively boys since he had come to Seoul). “Maybe you could even help. A second opinion never hurts.” An unusual offer, coming from someone who rarely shared bits and pieces of songs while they were still diamonds in the rough, and only ever with select people, yet the words had already left his lips and he wasn't about to take them back. Perhaps the fatigue was compromising his ability to think straight. Most likely. “Have you ever written a song?” (Yet another line overstepped.)

    ─ it was interesting, how the brain reacted when the body was t h r e a t e n e d; it brought her back to the days spent beneath the pastor’s roof by the sea, forced to keep her back straight and legs pressed together, sweat sticking her thighs to the wooden seat as another lecture was given. ( what had it been? the accidental slip of a sleeve down to expose her shoulder or the flash of leg she had given the boy sitting behind her as she rose from the church pew, cheeks pink in girlish t e a s e ? ) it was all one in the same, returning back to the base of her inferiority as a woman; but she was bundled up now, covered from head to toe and still she was pursued. 

    ( do not invite the devil into the minds of others, her father had said. but she hadn’t and yet… and y e t. )

    pretending came rather naturally after a while and it was achingly sad, how slipping into a role offered more comfort than truly expressing the fears that plagued her mind and gave reason for hands to tremble. her savior ( moonjin of impulse; a p p r e c i a t i v e gaze had studied his features during a television broadcast but she had not given much thought to him otherwise ) had assigned a part and she could play it well enough, until safety was within sight.

    ( where was safety? the cubicle of her work space in bc or the studio where she spent most of her time in? or was it beneath the roof of a pastor, the smell of the busan s e a tickling her sinuses every morning? )

    “of course, please.” it was interesting, how easily it was to push aside the crippling anxiety. her whole body was cold yet her mind was clear of thought, simply following orders; anything, anything, a n y t h i n g to survive. a mindset she had adapted that came into play now. ( she does notice how he places himself between the assailant and her hunched over figure in a subtle maneuver. ) she isn’t quite sure where he means to take her, hasn’t stopped walking since a few forgotten turns ago, doesn’t exactly know how far she is from her apartment complex but his suggestion has her thinking of julien; a friend? of s o r t s, after forced arrangement.

    another small nod. “yes, once or twice before.” not this late, she wants to tell him but it was difficult enough to form words. she cannot think of saving her image in front of him, of reassuring him that she was still the innocent little thing that the nation fell in love with. “the security guard knows me well enough, anyway.” an attempt at a smile, lips t r e m b l i n g from the effort. everyone knew her well enough once a name was spoken. ears strain; persistent follower, who has slowed his steps, still trails from a distance yet she dared not turn to look, focusing on her feet and her companion.

The life of an idol was vastly different for males and females, Moonjin knew – had always known, of course, but it was one of those truths no higher-up was comfortable with and he had thus been told to ignore, or at least never mention aloud, even less in front of a camera. It was more than periods – he could vividly remember the picture of his sister in bed that time of month, buried under blankets with a heating pad on her stomach, yet idols were on stage as if it was nothing – and high heels – blisters he would never have marring their feet; dancing in them, and their choreographies weren't as easy as some fans liked to make it seem either (he knew from experience, from covers Impulse had done). On top of all that, it was this – unlike the sasaengs he knew, was perhaps more used to than he should be; a threat on a different level with hungry gaze and violent hands, and only because some patriarchal part of their brains thought they could, that they were in power.

It was wrong, yet he knew that nothing would change; not anytime soon – and most certainly not simply because he wished for it to. In truth, he himself barely even had a voice. Rare were the instances his actions and words weren't under the company's or a manager's scrutiny, and it was a mere fortunate coincidence that he had strayed from his path tonight. (Management would not approve of this interaction; not unless they could make a story of his heroism, like it wasn't something any decent human-being would have done.)

Attentive gaze focused on her as she spoke up again, Moonjin offered a smile of his own, pretending not to see the tremble of her lips, even as it sucked the air from his lungs – he'd always felt too strongly for others, and telling himself strangers were not to be trusted hadn't been able to change that either. The only thing that had changed was that he refused to let it show now, refused to act on it. (Or at least he told himself that while his body reacted on its own, features softening as if to make sure he looked the least scary he possibly could, kindness smoothing sharp edges he'd been born with.)

“Good,” he replied, though he was referring to more than just her reply – you're doing well. “It's really warm and cozy inside, even this time of the year.” Safe. It's my safe haven and it can be yours, too. Spoken words had never been his strong suit, not with how easy they were to be misunderstood, their meaning variable depending on intonation, on volume – they were inefficient, but they were all he had at the moment, and he felt like he should at least give her that much. If he couldn't chase away the uninvited company, he could at least try to be a distraction.

━━✫・*。the tone of his voice is enough for hyejung to let a smile break out on her face. it’s sheepish and still demure, but it’s there and enough to soothe her nerves just a bit. of course there was no real reason as to why she was tense beyond words; she’d faced far more sour people from what she could see. maybe she’s just developed an innate fear of the unknown or something like that. moonjin wasn’t rude (thus far) or scary looking- he actually kind of looked like a wartortle but that was besides the point- no, it was hyejung’s own damn nerves that was making her speak as if she were in a job interview. so to calm those damn nerves took some time- but hopefully, it would be soon.

“i-uh, i assume as much,” hyejung says with a tentative laugh before they’re continuing. she can relate with his words of not knowing anything about acting; hell, she had ran into her first classes like a headless chicken (but still scared, as she always was). it’s only after does she realize her words may have sounded like she expected him to not know anything rather than talking about the previous topic of icebreaking, albeit her grammar a bit off. “icebreakers! not-not knowing anything, i didn’t think anything about your lack or knowledge of the topic-” she blurts out with wide eyes, shaking her head soon after at her own antics before bowing slightly. “sorry,” another sheepish smile. “anyways- yes, let’s start.

her cheeks are still burning as he speaks, though it does coercer an understanding nod from her. “yes….well, that one can be tricky.” hyejung herself had more problems with throwing too much into a performance; it, apparently, wasn’t professional for her to start tearing up after every stage she did. go figure. but she’s sat through enough acting classes with fellow trainees to know the problem and how to dissect it. “yes, i understand that much- you see, it’s what we call, pardon my language, resting bitch face.” if she was going to teach him how to act the very least she could do was do it as well as she could- how would she do that if she was censoring every word she spoke?

another sheepish smile appears on her face for the nth time before she flips through the multi coloured notes. “alright, here,” she says as she flips to a page. her notes had always been a bit of an organized mess; diagrams and side notes written in the margins and underlined words on the actions she would most likely forget. “let’s start with say…a happy emotion. there’s a lot of things that go into acting happy. you want to make sure your smile is symmetrical, and it fades gradually. and when your laughing make sure your jaw drops open. extra points if you throw your body into a bit and start clapping or leaning forward or something.  being genuine makes a large part of it.” she demonstrates as she says this, though she’s sure she looks ridiculous hyejung honestly doesn’t know how else to do. at least she had gotten part of the message out there. 

Rare were the occasions that Moonjin happened across someone who operated on a similar level of social awkwardness, which both relaxed and agitated him further, for it meant there was no one to judge him for any of his own mishaps, but it also sparked leadership habits he had grown so accustomed to; the urge to do something to establish a comfortable working atmosphere to increase efficiency. (Unmentioned but not forgotten were the more human reasons, an innate softness of heart that prompted him alarmingly often to overstep his own boundaries for the sake of someone else, though he was far from ever admitting to anything of the sort.)

Relax, he wanted to say, it's okay, yet what came out instead was a plain “No,” which, he realized only a couple of seconds later, left a lot of room for interpretation and didn't get his thought process across at all. Practice what you preach, he mentally reprimanded himself therefore, then took a deep breath to focus. After the many speeches he had had to give in his role as Impulse's leader, how hard could it be to talk to a colleague for a couple of minutes? The lack of care he treated his body with couldn't have possibly cost him that many brain cells. “I mean, it's all good. I understand.” A small, controlled smile on his lips, he made sure to look straight at her, like showing his usual mannerisms would let him slip back into his typical mindset as well. (The only problem was that his typical mindset told him not to fight a losing battle, and wasn't acting just that?)

A low hum came in reply to her words – she was right; he'd heard the term 'resting bitch face' linked to his name on enough occasions to know it to be true, and if anything, he appreciated the straight-forwardness. Albeit it was always a controversial topic in the industry, he preferred things not to be sugarcoated – after all, shouldn't they all have skin thick enough not to be fazed by the truth, however it may be phrased? His attention quickly shifted to the notes she was presenting to him, trained eyes scanning through them to sift out what was important, what he could work with.

Her presentation was taken in without any reaction at all, expression serious – perhaps overly so, more like a scientist observing an experiment, afraid of missing even the tiniest detail. “Um,” he started as soon as she was finished, the ridiculousness of the situation lost on him, “The thing is...” A short pause, a blink of his eyes and a firm reminder to remain professional, no matter how reluctant he may be feeling (which was indeed very), “Being genuine and doing something like that don't go together for me.” The truth, plain and simple, his preferred means of communication, and yet it seemed far too much like a joke at the moment – his laughter was never loud or boisterous, his amusement shown through grins and subtleties, like the creases forming around his eyes, alight with a glimmer of it. “I'll give it a try, though,” he made sure to add soon after, for the last thing he wanted was to come across as uncooperative when she was offering him her precious time (wasting it on him, most likely). So he did – scrunched up his facial muscles until his lips parted and his eyes were but crescent moons, a necessity to hide the lack of life his irises held, and clapped like a seal, as he had witnessed others do on variety shows all too often. How hard could it be? (The answer was, again, very.)

For a few minutes now, she has not been able to stop smiling. It only goes to show how easily amused she is by literally everything and anything, especially at this hour when it just didn’t seem worth it to pretend or to lie about how she really feels about him, about this whole thing. It seemed like a waste. Maybe it was a combination of the undisturbed silence of the night and the tiredness of her body and mind slowly, finally, catching up to her again. She had been good at surpressing the emotion far too long (like she does all other emotions she feels), so it really is no wonder it would catch up to her in the end to bite her in the ass. What goes around comes around, no?

Maybe it was about time for her to finally let it go. Let it all go.

“Sure, why not?” It’s a rethorical question; she’s not really looking for an answer, not looking for approval. She doesn’t think he needs to ask her if it’s alright for him to call her by her given name but formality has been drilled into her head since she was a kid, so she thinks she can understand where he’s coming from. Where his question is coming from. She’s not big on formalities, especially not when she sees how easy it is to abuse the power that comes with the formalities – younger people having to respect older people just because. There are obviously more to it than just respecting your elders, something that is deeply rooted in their culture, but she had grown to despise how blindly people followed rules and traditions even when said rules and traditions opposed them.

It feels weird to hear him say her name so nonchalantly, causally, as if it was natural, as if he had been doing it all the time. But then again, it had been a long time since anyone, for that matter, had addressed her by her given name. She had gone by the name “Lyra” for so long; she sometimes forgets that Jihyun still exists underneath all the glitter and glam.

Ease seeping into her system the more she listens to him talk, that’s how comfortable she feels at the moment. He is surprisingly easy to talk to (but maybe it’s an illusion of the night) and seems easygoing. Then again she has never really given him a chance because the moment Gold Star told them to get along was the moment she pulled away from him as quick as the wind; putting in as much distance as possible between them and only ever interacted or breathed his name when absolutely necessary.

“’Anmu’ sounds really cute, though,” a confession laced with another fit of giggles and she wonders if she could call him that or if it was reserved for his close friends from Busan. There’s a change in the atmosphere and it doesn’t go unnoticed. It doesn’t last long, and she’s quick to pick up the diversion, “I thought we were going to have an honest conversation tonight, Moonjin. What happened with that?” There is no malice in her voice; she’s teasing him, snickering at his attempt to change the subject but she lets him win this time despite having so many questions she wants to ask him. Why do you say that? What do you think you’re lacking in? Tell me more. She wonders what else is on his mind.

“It’s alright,” she starts, because it really is. Alright. But it’s also more than that. For the longest time, she had envied idol groups. On one hand, the bigger the number of members meant less lines for each one, less time in the spotlight and constantly having to take into account and care for each other. Jihyun is too ambitious, greedy, to even consider sharing the spotlight with someone else. At the same time, the life of a solo artist could be lonely, incredibly so. She did everything alone; standing on stage, fansigns, guesting on shows, meetings – the whole shebang. There has been many times in which she wished she could share the experience, the pain, the joy and the happiness with someone who went through the same things as her. “I’ve gotten used to it now, so it doesn’t bother me all that much these days,” voice low and steady. There was a time when she had found it difficult to admit this but she’s grown a little since then. She doesn’t mind talking about it, at least she doesn’t mind,because it’s him. “But it does get lonely, and sometimes I think it would be fun to be in a group, you know, with other members. But then I also think that I’m too greedy for the spotlight. I wouldn’t work in a group. I think I would hate it,” she ends with a low chuckle because she can just imagine herself standing in the way of the other members had she been in a group.

It's common knowledge that Moonjin is not much of a talker, not unless he has to be – because his position demands it, or his conscience, or the red light of a camera as it's turned on him (a sign; a warning) –, though no one would suspect as much now, with how freely he's voicing his thoughts, despite the fact that there is no real need to. For a moment, he realizes it too, and it's an intriguing question to pose: why? What's different? Maybe it's the late hour – he doesn't usually talk to anyone at a time like this, and for good reason. (His thoughts are everywhere and nowhere still.) Maybe she's an exceptional listener – in the way he needs it, perfectly timed intervals of speech and silence, like she somehow knows his inherent rhythm. Maybe it's what happens when he makes the decision to open the sluice gates – words pouring out with a current he no longer has control over. It's an intriguing question, and it remains as such, for he can't settle on a definite answer. Maybe it's all of those things – maybe something else entirely.

So he continues as before, with acceptance and without questioning it – it feels right for now, so why not? Why not? (How long has it been since he's last made a decision like this, without contemplating all the ways things could go wrong, without calculating risks and weighing them against possible benefits? Just because.)

“You think?”, he replies with a bashfulness so painfully uncharacteristic, he flinches for the briefest of moments. Memories flood in from a time he was that person – Anmu, warm and positive, bashful and kind –, and he finds himself overwhelmed by the emotions they bring, and most of all by the fact that they're not all negative. A sense of longing blooms in his chest for the first time in forever, and for a second, he allows himself to wonder if there's anything left of that boy with light in his eyes and hope in his heart. (All the while, he fails to realize that he is him – right now, right this moment in which his shadows have merged with the darkness surrounding him and he no longer has to blend in or hide them.)

A chuckle falls from his lips at her next words, light and easy, lifting some of the weight of his previous thoughts off his chest as it reverberates within. “And we are,” he says then, with a nod too firm for someone no one's looking at, because it's for himself this time – resolve. No hiding, for once, not from her and not from himself either, though he isn't sure he remembers how that works. For years, all he's known is ignoring the issues that accumulate and cluster around his heart, pushing until he's aching and then numb, and vowing simply to better himself so no more will arise. It's only now that he realizes he's seldom solved any of them, merely pushed them away with a promise of 'it won't happen again' – an excuse not to face them at all. “I'll answer any questions you may have honestly; my word still stands.” There, he hesitates, switching the phone from one hand to the other as his gaze focuses on the turned off ceiling lamp – a distraction as not to concentrate too hard on his words, since that never ends well for him. “I'm just not... used to talking about myself much, I guess.”