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the science of longing and being wanted
[Redacted] wasn’t entirely sure what the big deal was.
Sure, they understood that less people were around at night, making it easier to get into the catacombs without people interfering–and yes, ghosts tended to prefer being out and about in the cover of the night as well. They understood that. But for the life of them, they couldn’t understand why people liked the night so much.
Chimin in particular seemed fond of the night, evidenced by the starry night skies he used as wallpapers and the way he seemed more at ease in the dark. Chimin played with a rubbery keychain as they walked, the keychain an odd assortment of diamonds and dotted lines. A “constellation,” [Redacted] thought they were called.
“What’s it mean?” [Redacted] asked, and Chimin looked at them with a frown.
“What’re you talking about?”
“The keychain,” they said, touching the rubbery material momentarily. They brushed hands, and [Redacted] felt their chest constrict–skin felt so different from rubber, and they marvelled at the fact that they were able to tell the difference at all now, after so many years of feeling nothing. “What’s it mean?”
Chimin paused, bending the keychain between his fingers before replying, “It’s a constellation. My star sign, specifically. I’m an Aquarius.”
“Oh,” [Redacted] said. “Is that important?”
“What?”
“Your star sign. Is it important?”
“Oh.” Chimin frowned. “No. Not really. I mean, it’s important to some people, but I tend to think they’re just quacks. Some people say your star sign determines your personality and shit, but I don’t believe that. I just have it because they had my star sign and it was on sale and I thought it’d be cool to have. Upgrade an outfit or whatever.” Chimin paused again, before adding, “I’m not a fucking quack.”
[Redacted] gave him a thumbs up. “I didn’t think you were,” they said, nodding. “I was just curious. Thank you for explaining it to me.” They said it like they understood, when they didn’t understand at all. Chimin gave them a strange look before giving them a thumbs up back, and that was all they said until they reached the catacombs.
The catacombs, like always, were dank, dark, and eerily quiet, far down enough to muffle the sounds of cars on the road, wide and tall enough to keep from being claustrophobic, but cramped enough to make every sound seem unnaturally loud as it echoed across the walls. It was more or less familiar, at this point–they’d been down here so many times–but the catacombs seemed to shift while they were gone. Not so much that it was immediately noticeable, but just enough to feel like something was off. [Redacted] wasn’t sure how much of that was true and how much of it was just their perception. Either way, it never scared them. But they thought it would at least scare Chimin, so the fact that they’d caught him walking here alone so close to the witching hour seemed to indicate either a lack of fear or a lack of foresight on Chimin’s part.
“So, why are we here?” [Redacted] asked.
Chimin–who had been sullenly fiddling with his flashlight up until this point–blinked and turned to face the black void, looking taken aback. “Well… I don’t know what you’re doing here, R, but I came down here to think.”
[Redacted] looked at Chimin. Then they looked at the walls. They looked at the dark tunnel that lay ahead, barely illuminated by the flashlight Chimin held in his hand. “Right. You’re here to think,” they said, the way one might talk to a conspiracy theorist.
“Yeah,” Chimin said, blandly. “I’m here to think. Don’t worry; I brought all my ghost hunting crap just in case one pops out of nowhere and decides they want a snack or whatever. I’m not completely stupid.” His upper lip curled into a sneer, his shoulders tensing, but before [Redacted] could say anything he’d hiked up his bag and began stalking down the tunnel. “You don’t have to follow me, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
[Redacted] hastily followed Chimin down the tunnel, their ears laying flat to the top of their head. “I never said I was worried,” they said, casually slinging an arm around Chimin’s shoulders, both in an attempt to remind him that they were friends, as well as keep from losing him in the dark, should he try to speed up in an attempt to escape. “Maybe I just wanted to hang out, ‘cause I miss you. I don’t see you as often anymore,” they said, as cheerfully and casually as they could. “Not since–”
They’d caught themselves, but the damage had been done. Chimin glared up at them, his hand tightening around the flashlight until his knuckles went white. “Not since what, R?” he asked, quietly, and [Redacted] thought that if they were able to sweat, they would be at this very moment. “What? Are you worried about a repeat of last time? Is that why you’re here, R? You worried you’re gonna have to fucking save me again?”
“I… I just–”
“That’s what I fucking thought,” Chimin hissed, shrugging off [Redacted]’s arm. “Don’t fucking follow me,” he said, shoving his index finger into their chest. “I don’t need you. I don’t need your help, I don’t need your company, and I especially don’t need your fucking pity,” he spat, before turning on his heel and stalking down the tunnel. “If I die down here then so fucking be it, but I’m not gonna play damsel in distress to your knight in shining fursuit. Asshole.” He turned around, his sneakers grinding against what he presumed to be a mixture of soil and bone. “Fuck you.”
[Redacted] watched him storm away. They swallowed, hard, their breathing shallow. They’d never been screamed at like that before. People had always been perfectly kind. But that–that was new territory, and they never thought that it’d be coming from Chimin. They had half a mind to just leave, to choke down air on the street and to think about everything he’d said–but instead they became angry, and they followed Chimin down the tunnel, grabbing his shoulders when he spun around in anger.
“I said–”
“I care about you, you fucking idiot,” [Redacted] said through gritted teeth, which was impressive, considering Chimin hadn’t even known they’d had a mouth. “Maybe you don’t give a shit about whether you die or not, but I do, and other people do, and you know what? Yeah. Maybe I don’t completely trust your “ghost hunting” skills considering what happened last time, and maybe that pisses you off, but I’d rather you be pissed at me for my “pity” than have you be dead.” Chimin was glowering in [Redacted]’s grasp, and they considered the idea that he might be stupid enough to punch them. They released Chimin’s shoulders and took a deep breath, letting their hands clench into fists at their sides. The bandana suddenly felt tight around their neck. “So I’m coming with you whether you like it or not,” they said quietly, and [Redacted] realised it was their throat, and not the bandana that felt tight.
Chimin had turned bright red, and was avoiding looking at the taller figure, instead preferring to glare at a femur (or at least, what he assumed was a femur) lying on the ground. He half felt like screaming at the injustice of it all–it was his life, who the fuck were they to decide for him whether he lived or not? Who were they to decide whether or not he was good enough? And–who were they to play at caring for him, when really, they barely knew each other? Hell, Chimin didn’t even know their real name–
And then [Redacted] sniffled, and he realised, with mild horror, that the void was actually crying.
“Are you–” Chimin caught himself before he finished the question, because the evidence was right in front of him: tears, purple swirled with black and blue and dotted with stars, were leaking from the edges of [Redacted]’s eyes. “R, you’re… you’re crying,” he said instead, almost deflating, almost sinking into the ground like the weight of what he’d said had finally settled on his shoulders. There was something about making [Redacted] cry that made him feel small, and like it or not, he thought that maybe it was because no matter what he’d said, no matter what he’d thought, they were friends.
“Oh,” [Redacted] said, blandly. “I wasn’t sure that was something I could do. I’ve only really seen it on TV.” They wiped at their eyes, looking at the liquid streaked across the back of their hand in surprise. “They don’t look like that on TV, though. But maybe I just haven’t seen it enough times. Luthor doesn’t really like watching dramas; he says they’re trash TV.”
“I’m sorry,” Chimin said, quietly, though he was unable to bring himself to look at [Redacted]’s face. “I shouldn’t have said what I said. I was a dick, and I’m sorry.”
There was a pause, during which Chimin worried that [Redacted] was preparing to yell some more (though he thought he most certainly deserved it), but then they began to speak and Chimin allowed himself to breathe again. “I’m sorry too,” they said. “I was cruel too. I don’t pity you and I don’t think you’re an idiot. And I didn’t come down here in case you needed rescuing; I just thought maybe you could do with some company.” [Redacted]’s ears fell flat against their head, and it became their turn to deflate. “Obviously I was… wrong.”
Chimin bit his lip. “I–listen. I did come down here to think and yeah, I did want to be alone initially but, I mean–you’re right when you say we haven’t. Seen each other in a while,” he sighed, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “And I–” He paused, placing his hands against his lips in a way that made him look like he was praying. “I miss you too,” he muttered, and he watched [Redacted]’s ears pick up with a feeling that was a vague mixture of satisfaction and deep-seated shame.
“What?” [Redacted] asked.
Chimin considered that maybe they really hadn’t heard him the first time, as he would be the first to admit that it had been difficult to say and he hadn’t exactly been shouting it from the rooftops. On the other hand, however, he considered that maybe they were doing this just to fuck with him and was filled with the overwhelming desire to kick them in the shins. “I miss you,” he said, louder. “And if you wanna leave after everything that’s happened I’d get it and I honestly wouldn’t fucking hold it against you, because I was a twat, but if you–still want to. Stay,” he continued through gritted teeth, “I wouldn’t. Mind. I’d uh. Appreciate it. Yeah.”
[Redacted]’s response was to sling their arm around Chimin’s shoulders and grin, which he hadn’t known they’d been able to do up until this point. “I’m staying,” they said simply, and Chimin realised his hands had been shaking. “I mean, you might need–what was it you said earlier? Something about a knight in a shining–”
Chimin whirled around to whack [Redacted]’s arm, but they’d already danced away, cackling.
-
“Hey,” [Redacted] asked, as Chimin fixed one of the sigils Bee’d painted onto the wall. “What’s larping?”
Chimin choked on air. “What?”
“Larping,” [Redacted] repeated, as Chimin began to snicker. They frowned. “What’s so funny?”
Chimin cleared his throat in an attempt to keep a straight face, but nearly dissolved into laughter at the thought of [Redacted] LARPing. “It’s Live Action Role Playing,” he said. “LARPing. Basically a bunch of losers all get together and dress up in stupid costumes and act out stories and shit. Like they’re pretending to be in Lord of the Rings, or Game of Thrones, or something. Something off brand probably, to avoid getting into trouble.” He placed the paint and brush back into his backpack, still snickering. “Why?”
“Storm invited me to come larping this weekend,” [Redacted] replied. “He thinks I’d be good at it. He says Bee and Leo are coming too, so we wouldn’t have to bother with… I think he said kissing up to people, since we’d already have alliances.”
Chimin’s laughter had stopped, replaced with a grim look. “Ah,” he said, pulling his backpack back on. “Yeah. He and Hyung used to LARP in high school or something. They claim they were legends. So… yeah. You’d be in good hands. Didn’t know they got Noona into it, though. I thought maybe she’d have better taste.” He began walking off, and [Redacted], with some frustration, realised that yet again, they’d soured the mood.
“Well… did Storm invite you too?” they asked, hurrying to catch up.
“Once, yeah.”
“Then why don’t you come along this weekend? It sounds fun to me, and I mean… have you talked to Leo at all since the–” [Redacted] caught themselves mid-sentence again, and nervously scrambled to find something to finish the sentence with– “thing?” Good job, R, they thought to themselves, wondering what the point of knowing multiple languages was when they couldn’t speak any of them properly.
Chimin bristled, but quickly relaxed with a sigh. “I… No. Not really. I haven’t really talked to him since the… thing.”
[Redacted] waited patiently for an explanation before realising Chimin was going to continue being curt. They thought that perhaps, Luthor had been wrong about dramas being trash TV–clearly Chimin was trying to abide by their rule of “never communicate properly with anyone, ever,” and he was succeeding. “Why not?” they asked, and Chimin bit his lip.
“I’m just… giving him space.”
[Redacted] nodded as if they understood, when they didn’t. “Oh.” They paused, searching for something to say, as the air was becoming awkward and uncomfortable and they were very much regretting ever bringing up LARPing in the first place. “You guys just seemed really close, is all. I thought maybe you’d… miss him, if you didn’t talk.”
Chimin’s expression flickered, looking almost guilty for a split second. “I–yeah. I guess we are close. But I mean, even then we–we need our space. So I’m giving it to him.” He stopped walking to rifle through his backpack for the paint, spotting another sigil that needed a touch up. [Redacted] stood in silence as Chimin worked, wringing their hands in discomfort. This wasn’t a comfortable silence–this wasn’t even a silence where the tension was so thick you could cut it with an axe. This wasn’t a silence that choked you, or even weighed you down–this was a silence that settled around you and did nothing but feel empty. And perhaps that made no sense, as the word “silence” denoted the lack of sound–emptiness should, by all means, be its default. But this wasn’t a true emptiness. Emptiness could be filled. But this silence, this emptiness, felt like no matter what you did, and no matter what you said, it would never be filled. It would never be enough.
“Have you always been that close?” [Redacted] asked, in a desperate attempt to fill the emptiness in the air.
Chimin froze. Looked at the ground. Bit his lip. “Not… always,” he said. “We didn’t used to live in the same city… I used to live in Blackrose–that’s a town outside of the city–so we didn’t. See each other often. Not until I moved anyway.”
“When’d you move?”
“When I was around… I think twelve?”
“Why?”
Chimin didn’t freeze, but he did seem to go backwards in time. Slowly, the brush came away from the wall. Slowly, his posture sank. Slowly, his expression changed. Slowly time grinded to a stop, the silence finally beginning to change–but it wasn’t [Redacted] who it was changing for. It was changing for Chimin, and [Redacted] was scared they’d have to watch him drown. “My… My dad left,” he said, finally, quietly. “My dad left and my–Eomma wanted a. New start. She wanted to be with family. So we moved. And that’s when Leo and I got. Close.” Chimin sunk onto the floor, leaning against the wall, not caring if there were skulls hidden in the walls or not. “It was after Appa left,” he said weakly, his arms limp at his sides.
[Redacted] paused, realising that perhaps they were ill-equipped to deal with this particular situation, but they sat down next to Chimin anyways, bouncing their leg. “Do you miss him?”
Chimin was quiet for a minute, seemingly contemplating his answer. [Redacted] was about to tell him he didn’t have to answer if he didn’t want to when he finally said, “No. I don’t miss him. He was barely around and when he was he was drunk and aggressive. And if he wasn’t, then he was stand-offish and didn’t want anything to do with me. So no. I don’t miss him.” Chimin’s lip wobbled and his brow creased. “I hate him,” he said, spitefully, as he blinked back tears. “I hate him so fucking much.”
[Redacted] watched as tears began to drip from Chimin’s eyes. [Redacted] watched as Chimin attempted to hold onto his anger, as he began to shake and as his hands clenched into fists by his side, digging into the skin of his palm until his knuckles turned white. [Redacted] watched, helplessly, as Chimin tried to keep from falling apart in front of them, and then asked: “Then why are you crying?”
Chimin heaved a deep breath, refusing to allow himself to cry over his father–some man who didn’t even deserve the word, who’d barely even done the bare minimum. “Because he didn’t fight for me,” he said quietly, with the voice of someone who’d been defeated. “He didn’t want me. He’s my own father–the only fucking one I’ve got–and he didn’t fucking want me.” Chimin stared at the floor, letting his own words sink in, and then began to sob. “Do you know what it’s like, R? To want to be wanted?”
[Redacted] paused, hesitant to reply–the last thing they wanted to do was set Chimin off further. But Chimin looked up at them, tears streaming from his eyes, and they realised this wasn’t the face of someone who was looking for a fight. “I do,” they said, and Chimin almost crumpled into their arms, clinging to the fabric of their sweater like a lifeline.
“Then you know why I’m crying.”
[Redacted] wasn’t entirely sure what to do–this was entirely new territory; it seemed like this whole day had been full of entirely new territories, and they were starting to feel extremely useless. But if this was the best they could do–if holding him was the very best they could do–they figured something was better than nothing, so they tightened their grip and allowed him to cry, and they’d stay like that for as long as Chimin needed. [Redacted] didn’t know how long it’d been when Chimin’s sobs had been reduced to sniffles but maybe, they thought, that didn’t matter. Maybe, they thought, they wouldn’t mind if they stayed like this forever. Maybe, they thought, they didn’t care about how it’d take. Maybe, they thought, if Chimin wanted, they didn’t want to let go.
Chimin made no move to pull away, and [Redacted] thought that, maybe, he was thinking that too.
“The worst part is,” Chimin said, sniffling, still loosely holding onto [Redacted]’s sweater, “now I’m scared to talk to Leo because I’m afraid he’ll… leave. Like my dad did.” He was quiet for a moment before continuing, “And I know he won’t. Because he’s not my dad. He’s Leo, and he’s my cousin and he loves me and he acts more like my dad than my actual dad ever did, honestly. But I–I’m still so fucking scared.”
[Redacted] rested their chin on the top of Chimin’s head as they thought about what to say next. “Well… You know he’s been. Asking about you,” they said, hesitantly. “Like he asks Juno about you whenever he sees her. And honestly, I kind of. Followed you because he asked me about you too.” They paused, letting Chimin think about what they’d just said before continuing, “He misses you. And he’s worried.”
Chimin, despite himself, snickered. “Yeah. Sounds like him. Of course he’d go bothering my friends… I’ll talk to him soon. I just needed a bit of time.”
There was a short silence–different from the ones that came before it. It wasn’t empty, or suffocating, or tense. It was soft. Comfortable. Like the silence just after you wake up, still nestled in blankets, half dreaming, the sunlight gently filtering in through the curtains.
“Hey R?”
“Yeah?”
“If you have a mouth, why don’t you use it when you talk?”
[Redacted] paused, frowning at the wall. “Uh… Good question. It’s just… easier to not, I guess? Then I gotta worry about the lip movements syncing up. And I don’t really like… need to eat or anything, so it’s not like I ever have to use it. So I just don’t.”
Chimin rolled his eyes with a laugh. “Yeah, well… you’re gonna have to get used to using it more often.”
“Why?”
Chimin sat up straight and pulled [Redacted] closer, a hand on the back of their neck. “Just because,” he said softly, as he closed the gap between them. And in that moment, [Redacted] understood–and they wondered how they’d gone on for so long without ever understanding what it meant to kiss.
~*~*~*~fin~*~*~*~
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