Since his return home, sleep had become a foreign concept for Taeyong. Time seemed to have slowed down, and now it was dragging on. After swearing the time was 11:38 pm for five hours, he couldn’t take it anymore. Slowly and quietly, Taeyong dressed and slipped out of his home… the only place he had been in… he didn’t know how long.
He didn’t bother grabbing his keys. It was a beautiful night, with not a single cloud in the sky. He set off down the road for some fresh air, his hands tucked into his pockets and his hat pulled low over his eyes, even though the sun wasn’t shining.
The walk to the park, nestled in the heart of the cookie-cutter neighborhood, was brief. He had visited this park countless times before, yet he found himself unsure of how to measure his days anymore.
Taeyong found an empty bench and settled in, closing his eyes and asking into the darkness, “What’s it going to be?”
The next day should be celebrated with friends. He’s 30 years old. For so long, he was certain he wouldn’t see it, and he was right. Ironically, the same day he should be celebrating with friends was the same day his friends said goodbye to him—or they thought they did.
Only a handful of people knew his secret, and he was certain none of them were eager to celebrate his return, his life, or him. His chest constricted and strangled his life giving organ.
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