TW

a mother's worry

early april, a somewhat stormy evening (outfit inspo)

She stands. She walks to the window. She stares through the rain. She paces. She sits.

She should be comfortable, Taeri. She has shed her work clothes; she rests in her home. And yet, her heart beats faster with every minute passing by. There is food set at the table, but she has not touched any of it. She feels nauseous. She feels cold. No matter how much she wraps herself in the clothes which cover her body, she still shivers. Minjun is not home. Curfew has been in place for two hours and he is not home. This would not be the first time. Her son toys with the rules the way his father always used to. But the days are different. The world is different. She asked him to be careful, to return home. Far from being naïve, Taeri knows her child has his own life to live. Except tonight; he promised he would return. Tonight, he said he would be here, with her. So where is he?

She stands. She walks to the window. She stares through the rain. She paces. She sits.

Her left leg bounces up and down. Her fingers fiddle with the fabric of her clothes. Her eyes are so focused on the folds of her clothing it is as if she expects him to appear there. For the first hour, she just worried. Now, she wonders whether to report it or not. How long should she wait before raising the alarm? She worries he would get into trouble if it is nothing. What if it is not nothing? What if he has been taken? Could she live with herself if she had been able to stop it and just sat there? Her head falls backwards. Curses slip through her lips. She closes her eyes to think. All she sees in the darkness behind her eyelids is the lifeless body of her child hanging from a rope. The vision sends a shiver through her being.

She stands. She walks to the window. She stares through the rain. She paces.
She must tell Locke. She goes to grab her coat.
A key turns and the front door opens.

As soon as she sees him, she runs to him, grabs onto his being as if to check he is really there. She makes sure he is not hurt, that her mind does not play tricks on her. Her arms wrap around him with a relieved sigh. And then, her blood boils. The fuck do you think you’re doing?! She pushes him away and grabs onto his arm with more force than she really needs do. The adrenaline her body has been building up turns away from her fear to fuel her rage. Do you know how worried I’ve been? There would have been tears in her eyes if the fire burning in her heart hadn’t evaporated them all. Two hours, Minjun. Two fucking hours! Her fingers turn white from the pressure she puts on his arm. Did you not tell me just to piss me off? Or did you happen to forget what’s out there? I don’t know which one is fucking worse. Her laugh is sour – but it also speaks of her pain. Do you want me to come pick you up as if you’re a child? Cause I fucking will. She moves in closer to him, eyes deep in eyes. She might be smaller than him, but she had also always been smaller than his father. It never stopped him from fearing her. Don’t make me call it in every time you think about breaking the rules. The threat of ruining his freedom might not hold. But right now, it shines brighter than anything. You’ll wish the fireflies got to you.

Adrenaline grows and dies. And so she lets him go. Her hands still shake as she sits at the dinner table, as she pushes her untouched plate across the wood towards where he normally sits. Eat. A mother’s apology, some might say.

TW

a mother's worry

early april, a somewhat stormy evening

The moans mix, in the open space that is theirs. Fingers intertwined with the silk of black hair, a hand digging in the tired fabric of the couch. There is nothing else but this, but them for the time it lasts. And every sound, every kiss makes the day better. It’s raining, from the collapsed roof. The lights of the day have dimmed, but neither of them noticed. It hasn’t been planned. But a hand has grasped his wrist as he was about to take off, and a look has been all it took to understand. Sneaking to their place is a habit. Doing so in the current time takes a bit more time. What they do too. There has been something different. That takes longer, of sweet nothings muttered to his ear, of nestling against him when they are done. Their hands fit so well together – that’s what is on his mind when he tries to come back to himself, breathless, his head on the other man’s chest. Only then, as he lifts his chin to look outside does he realise what time it must be. “어머 (omg). What time is it? His arms push Hikari back before stumbling up, picking up his watch and… “엄마 ((Mom)) is going to kill me.” Because he did say he would have dinner with her and it is way past dinner time. And Jeon Taeri is no woman to get stood up by a man, not even her son. He isn’t long picking up his clothes and putting them on – still in his white uniform. There’s a slap on the back of his friend as he goes to exit : “See you tomorrow.”

Curfew is so behind there is no walking proudly in the streets and pretend he is on a shift, as he sometimes does. This evening, it takes longer. Because the Peacekeeper knows where the cameras are. He is the eye, most of the time, thus he knows all the blind spots. And gladly uses them to his advantage. But there he has to hide, to slide, to slip through the net he usually is in charge of. There is not doubt he will not hear the end of it from his mother in his mind. Was it worth it? That’s not even a question he asks himself. Things have been this way and that’s it. He’ll find a way to make it up to her. That’s what family is, in the end. So there is not much on his mind when finally he uses the key to get home. She must be at the dinner table, ready to give him a death stare when he approaches. He’ll apologise for being a bad son and this will be it.

But in a second, she is on him. And this startles the soldier, just as he is taking off his shoes – a tradition his mother always insisted on observing. Especially when finally, she gets him closer to her, hugs him with a strength she hasn’t displayed in quite some time. “엄마! (Mom)” The fuck do you think you’re doing?!The whiny protest soon dies on his lips as he is pushed back with a force the embrace was not letting him expect. He catches himself before falling down, and so do his eyes with the expression on the woman’s face. The grip on his arm is not fought – although he probably could have tried – but knows better. Because when Taeri is angry, there are signs you shouldn’t make it worse. Do you know how worried I’ve been? But.. Two hours, Minjun. Two fucking hours! There is a light complaint at the strength displayed on his arm. There is no fear, in the son’s heart, never has been. But something else is brewing. There is a bit of guilt, of course, but also… how could she be worried? This is not like if there was an actual risk. Did you not tell me just to piss me off? Or did you happen to forget what’s out there? I don’t know which one is fucking worse. 괜찮습니다 (it’s fine), he protests lightly, knowing better than rolling his eyes. She is overreacting, in his view. He is fine. He will be fine. He knows better. Do you want me to come pick you up as if you’re a child? Cause I fucking will. The protest is aborted on his lips as she gets closer. There is so much on her features it would be foolish to push his luck and to add to it.  Don’t make me call it in every time you think about breaking the rules. You’ll wish the fireflies got to you.

And she is gone. It’s only pride that prevents him from rubbing the arm. One second is taken to get his shoes off properly. His ears are ringing with the reproaches of his mother. And if he does think nothing calls for this – for nothing can happen to him – he also recognizes the worry of a mother. It is his job to reassure her, not to worry her. Thus when he joins her, when he sits, when the food is pushed to him, he doesn’t question. Eat. 고맙습니다. (Thank you) There is a mouthful taken, a silent acceptance of the apology, before he speaks again. His eyes are searching for his mom’s : “죄송합니다 어머니, (I am sorry, Mother)” and his sincerity shows, having dropped the attitude the minute he entered his home, “I didn’t mean to worry you.” This much is quite clear. And if he knows better than to waste the food, it doesn’t get his attention for now. “Something came up last minute and I lost track of time.” This might be the understatement of the century. But for once he didn’t break the rules on purpose, that much is true. One hand gets the collar of his uniform a bit higher, wondering if there are marks here she’d better not see. His fingers play with the chopsticks : “But it’s fine. Truly. There are patrols everywhere.” That he avoids religiously. A pause. That might not be the best argument, that much is true. “And I was not alone. Hikari was there.” Perhaps this would be. He resumes eating: “I truly am sorry you worried and that I missed dinner time. I’ll make sure to let you know next time, so you don’t worry.” It is that easy, in his mind. Because he is reckless? He never has been. Because he refuses to see the danger? Perhaps. He is a soldier. If he saw it, he would never have enrolled. This comes with the job, and this is something he has accepted a long time ago. He just thinks his time will come later than for the others. And that’s it.

TW

a mother's worry

early april, a somewhat stormy evening (outfit inspo)

The mother’s worry is palpable. Taeri is not of those who would collapse and thank their child for being alive. Even less would she thank some divine being for looking over her son. She knows too well there is no such thing as a God in this world, no matter how much her parents used to make her pray. There is only her, only him, only the luck of a world which has fallen apart. And, somehow, they kept him alive today. 괜찮습니다. (it’s fine) The Jeon’s arrogance, however, might not. His feeble attempts at brushing it off do nothing to calm the mother, only serve to fuel her rage, to push her closer to him. Rarely has her Korean sounded quite so harsh, for it is a language she normally holds for family. How ironic, some might say, that it is the father of the child who experienced her sharpest tongue.

Taeri forces herself to take a step back, to breathe as she returns to the table. The food is a peace offering, it always is. No matter how cold and stale it might be, hours too late. The mother feeds her child. 죄송합니다 어머니. (I am sorry, Mother) The child apologises. She nods, accepts to let his eyes find hers. Her traits remain hard, for the fear does not disappear as easily as other emotions do. I didn’t mean to worry you. Something came up last minute and I lost track of time. For two hours? she cannot help but ask. Minjun is no longer a child, so she often wonders why he continues to behave like one. Perhaps she should take the blame, for she is the one who has spent his entire life raising him. And still, her mind always congratulates itself on the son’s qualities; blames his father for the flaws. Taeri leans forward to grab onto some of the food on the plate, as her stomach slowly remembers it too has not eaten. Her eyes follow the movements of her son’s fingers, the unkemptness of his being. But it’s fine. She raises an eyebrow. Truly. There are patrols everywhere. It didn’t stop them before. The food is chewy and too cold to be enjoyed. And I was not alone. She finds his eyes. Hikari was there. It is stillness which finds her, the way it sometimes does in those moments. Moments which the son might not know, those she kept for when his bedroom door was closed, when Pildo pushed more than he should have. I truly am sorry you worried and that I missed dinner time. Her breath seems calm. I’ll make sure to let you know next time, so you don’t worry. It is anything but.

She snatches the plate from under him. Dinner time, hm? The porcelain cracks in the sink as the cold food covers it. Back in front of the table, she stands. You think this is about dinner time? The question is painfully rhetorical. And still, she lets the silence set between them. I’m just your sad little 엄마, so lonely without her son to eat dinner with her? You think I just wait for you to come home, feed you, and tuck you into bed? She has spent so much of her life taking care of other, it is almost as if it hurst to see that he cannot seem to give her an ounce of it back. Peacekeepers are dying, Minjun. Some of them are better than you. Perhaps in this world, pain is the only way to pierce through those barriers built in the collective mind. They’re faster, stronger, more experienced. And they’re dying. There is a hint of a crack in her voice as her eyes shine. She will not cry, Taeri. But like the ocean, water sometimes dances without falling. And you think this is about dinner time? The sound of a patrol passes by the window. That uniform is making you a target. It won’t save you from the fireflies any more than it can hide the marks on your neck. Her palms find the wood of the table as she leans across, her voice so quiet it is almost deafening. You want to fuck Hikari? A breath. Do it here. Do it in his house. Do it somewhere safe. The coldness of her gaze cannot quite match the one lingering outside, warmed by the love in her heart. If you say you will be home for curfew, you get home for curfew. This is my house. You follow my rules. And you stay the fuck alive.

TW

a mother's worry

early april, a somewhat stormy evening

Does he truly believe this is going to be enough? The son is so sure the problem is the time they did not spend together that part of him does. For the reality has been pushed back when the news has been reported. There has been no footage, no images for him to look at. This is life has he always knew it, nothing more. A shrug welcomed the news and as he said “Peacekeepers die all the time.” No one contradicted him, because Jang Pildo has not been forgotten. Thus this should be over. He already thinks of what to make as his next pottery project, as an apology gift to his mother. This has always been his way of doing it. And yet this time, he may have to go harder than this. For two hours? Minjun knows better than replying to this. His lips pinch and his neck bends a bit. This has been reckless, for sure. Messing with the curfew has always been a risk, and generally he just toys with the line. But he had to sneak there first, then sneak back. This has been a miscalculation on his part and this, he will own by not refuting and not talking back. As Taeri starts eating, he does believe it is the end of it, pushing a bit more the plate to her so she can access it easier. He just needs to close the chapter, to apologize again and to reassure her. It didn’t stop them before. This – he doesn’t want to discuss. He knew saying it that it wouldn’t hold. It didn’t indeed. But this was not him they attacked. He is safe. And this is all that matters. They are both home. And…

The plate moves. His wrist hits the table, as he did not anticipate the motion. But he does know better than protest. Dinner time, hm? The cracking sound is heard – plates, this is what he should aim at making next time. But all thoughts are being set aside. For the mother stands. And if there is no fear in the son’s heart, there is enough consideration to know a line has been crossed. And not to make this worse than it already is. And that now… now is the time to listen, to do it carefully for it to escalade. You think this is about dinner time? The confirmation is kept in, for this doesn’t call for an answer. I’m just your sad little 엄마, so lonely without her son to eat dinner with her? You think I just wait for you to come home, feed you, and tuck you into bed? His lips part, before closing again. Of course not. And anyone thinking that Jeon Taeri is a weak woman in need of taking care of her son to feel anything is the biggest idiot in the world. Peacekeepers are dying, Minjun. Some of them are better than you. This hurts. Not the “better than you” part, even though the arrogance of the youth may have argued that he is better than most of them. Because he cannot throw in her face, as he did others, that Peacekeepers are always dying. For she knows. For they know. They’re faster, stronger, more experienced. And they’re dying. This is the vibration in the voice that makes him raise his head again. 엄마… Now is not the time. Yet it cracked something inside, to see the water here. And you think this is about dinner time? That uniform is making you a target. It won’t save you from the fireflies any more than it can hide the marks on your neck. There is not even a thought for the second part. For the fact that she knows what he has been doing. Not when suddenly he sees it. You want to fuck Hikari? Oh. Do it here. Do it in his house. Do it somewhere safe. This won’t happen. This will never happen, and he knows. But he doesn’t care. What he cares for is what is in front of his eyes. If you say you will be home for curfew, you get home for curfew. This is my house. You follow my rules. And you stay the fuck alive.

Silence falls again on the kitchen. And Minjun cannot take his gaze off his mother’s face, for a long time. There is not a care in the world about anything else, right now. There is only the memory of Javier brining him home, delivering the news to her. Of her expression when she told him that Danae chose to go. The absolute knowledge that he could have gone away long ago. There have been invitations, extended to him, to join in a house with others of his batch. But this is something he never even considered. And if whoever called him Mama’s boy got their ass kicked, nothing could be truer. And finally he lowers his head. 죄송합니다 어머니. (I am sorry, Mother) It will take more than words, more than new plates and more than whatever creature of the ocean he would be able to form out of clay. The arrogance and denial don’t hold in front of the mother’s worry, the mother’s love. For if he can display the worst attitude to anyone, on purpose, never would he hurt the most important person of his life for sports. His head tilts, tongue coming for his teeth, trying to gather his words: I am careful, I have always been. Those are not just words, this is the reality. He values his life, that is for sure. I will be even more. There are things that are left unsaid, for never has he been good at this. At describing how he feels, pushing them down as much as he could. Feeding the angry monster that has been eating his insides even since Jang Pildo took his own life. Be home on time. So she doesn’t fear for his life. But what good is this? What if they take them away during the day? The chopsticks are put down. And his eyes try to find hers again. The problem is that he doesn’t want to lie to her. To tell her he will stay alive. To make a promise he is not sure he can fulfil. We’ll get them. This is less harmful. Because they will, one way or another. The soldier nods, as if to validate his own prediction. And then we’ll be safe. But then again, what is safe, truly, in this world he has been born in? Safe is this place. Safe is his mother. The tongue clicks, feeling his own emotions rise. Keeping them at bay. 죄송합니다 어머니. (I am sorry, Mother) is uttered again, in a low voice. He thought he was a bad son, coming in. This was still far from reality.

TW

a mother's worry

early april, a somewhat stormy evening (outfit inspo)

Silence surrounds them and there it remains. The rain on the windows and the sounds of patrols moving outside seem foreign, so far from the reality of the small kitchen. Taeri does not move. Her eyes in her son’s, she holds the stillness of those whose hands have always been precise. She does not wonder whether she has been too harsh, does not second guess any of the words she has just spoken. She knows she is right, knows that her child is wrong. Some days, she allows for some doubt, gives him the space he needs to prove her wrong. Not today. Today is about so much more than breaking promises and cold dinners. It worries her just as much as it angers her. For if Minjun takes this so lightly, she knows he will not be careful. She knows he will not give the danger any credence. And she knows, though danger has always been on the other side of the walls, that arrogance is enough to get the strongest person killed. She does not know what she would do if she were ever to see him there. If she were ever to see his limp body hanging there, in front of their home. As soon as the thought comes to her mind, she pushes it away. Perhaps if she ignores it, it will never come true.

죄송합니다 어머니. Something is different with this apology, she can tell. She knows there is an understanding there that had not been when Minjun first walked in. And so her muscles relax gently as she straightens back up. I am careful, I have always been. She does not say anything, does not bother to remind him that his father too, for all of his faults, was always careful whenever his feet stepped outside. They both know it was not enough for him to survive. They both know accidents happen. If not him, then Locke’s partner. If not Trish… she refuses to think the thought. I will be even more. Slowly, her heads nods – a silent thank you. Be home on time. Though small, there is a smile that grows on her lips. We’ll get them. And then we’ll be safe. And then we’ll be safe, she echoes quietly. Quietly enough to catch the child’s emotion. Quietly enough to see what he is trying to hide from her.

죄송합니다 어머니. Slowly, she makes her way around to table, brings the son to him. She holds his head against her stomach, a hand coursing through his hair. I know. How calming to feel his warmth against him, to be reminded that he is here and not out there. I know, she repeats in a breath, as if to seal it in, to say that the conversation has been had and they both know what will come of it. 엄마가 돌봐줄게. As she lays a kiss on his skull, the promise is sealed and shall never be broken. Silence finds them once more, though it is not as heavy as it was just moments prior. This time, the rhythm of the outside rain echoes the beating of their hearts. Taeri’s mind holds onto the soul of her son, sometimes thinks of the desire she has to never again be the relative of a dead peacekeeper. She feels untouchable sometimes, there in the higher group of the district, living a life that is almost peaceful and almost calm. She knows the world continues to die out there, is reminded of it when her people fall. But for the first time, the danger is within the walls. For the first time, her child is not safe sitting in an office and walking around the streets of his own home. The reality is too hard for her to bear. She knows that tonight, she will lay awake thinking of it all. That she might just stand in the doorway to Minjun’s room, watch him sleep as if to make sure he will be there through the night. Anything to keep the fears at bay.

It is her body which breaks the silence. Hunger has turned to starvation for the woman whose metabolism needs more than most. There is a rumble there, close to where her son’s head still lays. You hungry? she asks gently, her palms finding his cheeks to rise his head towards her. I can reheat some soup. She does not really wait for his response, leaves a kiss on his forehead and moves to the kitchen for a moment. The sound of a pot on the hob fills the room, followed by the gentle fire burning under it. Once more, she stands in the doorway to the living room, calmer this time. Should we talk about it? she asks, her hand replacing some of the strands of hair falling on her forehead. Hikari, she adds.

TW

a mother's worry

early april, a somewhat stormy evening

And then we’ll be safe. There is was a knot, undone by the words in his shoulders, in his chest. Because this means they are finally on the same wavelength. There are things Minjun doesn’t want to talk about, for he doesn’t even want to think about them. But for her, he cannot be this selfish. There needs to be explanations, acknowledgements. And this is what he does, as truly as possible, while making sure not to get overwhelmed. What good would it do, to show weakness now? Especially when there is no need for it, for the mother knows the son. For when she moves to get closer, there is this certainty he has been seen, he has been understood. And whether it would be easier to remain in denial to remove oneself from the situation, there is a part of him that will forever be the little boy in need of his mother’s warmth. Thus the cheek finds the stomach, the arms come to circle the waist. And there is little tension left in his body in this moment, surrendering to the tenderness of a parent. I know. She does. And so should he. I know. He will know better, next time. 엄마가 돌봐줄게. This tightens his throat. It is meant, it is precious, and there is everything she does that is in her power to keep him safe, at every point of his life. Yet this is not up to her entirely. 내가 돌봐줄게. is echoed softly, a promise to be better, to her. If the rest of the world can burn, if he will take whatever he can with little regards to others, his mother is special, is precious. And he should, too, do a bit more than plates for her. For he is not a kid anymore, but a man. And if there is no will in him to ask her to back off, there should be at least a small amount of what she gives given back to her.

The silence is cosy this time and the soldier drowns in it, in the simplicity of the moment. Which is broken by a noise really close to him. 엄마 !, he protests quietly, with a bit of concerned reproach in the tone. This is definitely on him, the fact she was unable to stomach any food after this. You hungry? Yes, is answered without any hesitation, as his eyes find the mother’s face. The day has been long and even this rollercoaster of emotions cannot tame his need for food. I can reheat some soup. 고마워요.And like this she moves, and he follows. There is a glance for the wasted food in the sink, that he promises himself to replace, one way or another. Because they know the value it has, and the extent some would get for that. His steps get him to a small cabinet to get assorted bowls he made himself, setting them on the table. Should we talk about it?  There is a stillness in his motion as he finishes to turn to her. Hikari. Oh, and relief finds him, expecting a tougher question than this one. This is easy. A shrug dismisses the seriousness of the conversation: We can, but there is not much to say. And yet his hands found his pockets and he turns to the wall, as if looking for the answer in the water drenched window. Wondering for a second if their neighbour has returned safely. We’ve been seeing each other for… The pause drags on, as he tries counting. For the starting point is clear. For the pain of the loss is still too vivid to realise it has been a few years, already. And this has him clearing his throat, dismissing the thought and the number immediately. … a while now. This is a weird feeling, talking about it. About him. About… them. It’s not… The serious dies on his lips, for he missed curfew, for he cannot tell his mother this when she got worried for him. And for other reasons, that are pushed back. We’re not exclusive. And we don’t really talk about it. Another shrug, to belittle maybe the moment. And to keep the rest at bay. Coming back to his mother’s face, trying a bit of his charming bratty smile: As I said, nothing much to talk about. And yet. Yet there is a little pull, somewhere in his chest. But he had enough emotions for a night.

TW

a mother's worry

early april, a somewhat stormy evening (outfit inspo)

She is not the type to pry, Taeri. If she has always been close to her son, to the child that grew inside of her, she has always given him the freedom to be himself and live his own life. He knows he does not have to give her anything he does not want to, that she will understand if the replies are short and vague. But she remains a caring mother, Taeri. And so her child also knows that whatever worries her will be queried, that she will look for pain and hope to fix it. In some ways, she is calmed by the thought of Minjun spending time with someone she knows cares for him, a friend that has been one for years. She hopes there will be something of a caring love between the men, the type that people try to hide from the world until they are sure it is what they believe it to be. Far from being the romantic type, she still allows herself to hope for the best when it comes to her son’s happiness.

We can, but there is not much to say. She smiles gently at his words, expecting to see one on his own traits. Her lips fade when he turns away from her, as she senses what she thought would be is not. We’ve been seeing each other for… Taeri likes to believe he is simply trying to remember, to put a date on something that can sometimes be easy to forget. But the end of his sentence sounds too painful to be this gentle. … a while now. Many things happened a while ago; none bring quite a look on the son’s face as the loss of a father. She truly believes love can grow out of loss, and yet – It’s not… We’re not exclusive. And yet it is not delicious love which slips out of Minjun’s lips. And we don’t really talk about it. He finally turns back to her, tries to give her something to believe, but she is not blind. As I said, nothing much to talk about. For a moment, she lets the words rest, thought filling the eyes she does not move away from him. She considers the fact he seems dismissive, thinks of his wellbeing – of the fact it took him so long to return home. Nothing much and yet he kept you away for hours. She does not wish to bring back the conversation they had earlier, moves away from it quickly. You clearly care for him. She takes a couple of steps towards him, her eyes briefly focused on the marks on his skin. This isn’t the first time you come home with… A smile finishes her sentence. Though I believe this is the first time one of them lasted… a while. Behind her, the soup boils a bit harder than it should, reminds her it is ready to be eaten. Still, she looks into her son’s eye for a moment more, offers him an opening, should he choose to take it. Only then does she turn around to turn off the heat. 앉아., she says gently as she moves back to the table. There, she sits, stirs the soup, and pours some in two bowls. She holds onto the silence, lets it speak for itself; lets her son choose whether to share more.

TW

a mother's worry

early april, a somewhat stormy evening

There is something off in the way he brushes of the conversation. Even he cannot deny that. But Minjun is still shaken up by the conversation he had with his mother. There is a lot, that has been revived by it, that is wished to disappear. Those thoughts have no place here, nor anywhere else, for they won’t help him stay alive. They won’t improve his mother’s situation. So what good are they? None. They are better kept away, shoved through the burning gates at the bottom of his stomach. This is were everything is pushed. This is where everything lives, unknown, hidden. And this should always be this way. Yet under the unwavering gaze of his mother, it is always harder to keep them at bay. For Taeri knows her son. For there is a sense of safety here, between those walls, that never falters. Here he is a bit different. Here he doesn’t snap at people. Here he doesn’t misbehave. So while she looks at him, something tightens in his throat, altering the brightness of his smug smirk. Nothing much and yet he kept you away for hours. The curfew was missed because of this, and not once. Even worse, he did momentarily forget that he was supposed to be home with her because Hikari grabbed him suddenly and told him he wanted to spend time with him. The throat is hard to clear, a strangled sound echoing in the room. You clearly care for him. This is easy. I do. Because they are friends, because it has been years. Because when they are together it is easy. Because… This isn’t the first time you come home with… What a dangerous train of thoughts is suddenly broken. It is easier to get back that infernal charming smile, speaking of the numerous people he got to know biblically. Though I believe this is the first time one of them lasted… a while. A part of him knows this is a risky conversation. Not because of what she may think. Because of where this leads him.

The sound of the soup doesn’t cover the fast pace of his heart, that he can feel drumming in his ears. It’s true I don’t bother with long relationships. This is harmless enough, or so he thinks. 앉아. But is it? As he takes his place to the table, his eyes are on the hypnotic motions of the ladle, but his focus is elsewhere. His mind is between those three walls, on that tired couch. It’s replaying him their moments, it is sending him images of the silky dark hair twisted around his forefinger, of the skin he learned to know. And the warmth that comes after. That is so different from the release that is found between the arms of others. He’s been there for me, when… The words don’t come out. They never do. It is not because he thinks his mother won’t take them. It is because he cannot bring himself to pronounce them. Ever. A thank you is muttered when he is served, and his hands set the bowl back, picking the spoon, playing with it. … when I needed him. Those are harmless truths, he tells himself. It’s just… The soldier is usually good with words. He is not when feelings are involved. The eyes are on the hot fumes coming from the food. We… got used to it, I guess. Now it is part of who we are. This sounds simple enough, put this way. And those are affirmations he is comfortable with. Every encounter is essential. Perhaps no, it is not casual. But it is what it is. And he is not questioning it. His head rises so he can look at his mother, without a mask, this time. Being honest : He is good to me, 엄마. And I take care of him. He looks out for him. Checks that he is alright. This is what friends do. We’re good. And this seems to be an accurate enough depiction of it. When we don’t make each other miss curfew, is tried in a tentative at passable humour, something flashing in his eyes. More of the teenager he once was, carefree and so sure that he owned the town, that nothing could happen, neither to him, nor is family. Bowing his head immediately to apologize for the bad joke, before starting eating.