two to infinite
- Admin D
"I told you one story."
"But there are more, aren’t they?"
"Just tell me when I’ve told you eighty eight of them."
You watch him carefully from the furthest corner of your eye, at the point
where you can angle it no more and the pressure hurts your eyelids, pushing the
iris back to its original place. But then again his tall figure is enough to
keep torturing your sight if only for the reason of catching a glimpse of him.
The way he turns and the way he walks and the way people linger onto him, the
way he catches attention and never lets it go. That’s how it is for you too.
He holds a red rose today,
matching his newly dyed red hair, as he steps inside the classroom and he looks
confident and beautiful. For a moment you lie to yourself that the rose is
meant to be in your hands, you imagine the contrast between the pale kind of
skin you have and the scarlet petals of the flower nestled in his palms and
then you let the illusion get shattered. You can’t keep an illusion like that,
you can’t feed it for it will grow and overthrow you. You can’t keep it because
it would be cruel and selfish. It would most definitely break your heart too
because he catches your attention, he is your whole world but he doesn’t even
know your name. Almost no one knows your name. You are nothing but a silent
presence that fills the back corners of the rooms, the black corners of
people’s minds and if they were to be asked “Do you know who she is?”, they
would probably answer “There seemed to be a girl standing there at the far end
of the room but I can’t remember her face at all let alone her name.” You are
just a fleeting feeling, a shadow, darkness that paints in your silhouette
printed in the yearbook when people don’t remember you being there in the first
place. People don’t care enough to even bully you. They don’t mock you, they
don’t find you annoying. They don’t find you at all.
That’s the reason that the two of you don’t match. Because he is filled up with
Seoul daylight seeping through his skin as the sun and sky dries on his
forearms, cradling roses near his heart, thornless roses that don’t cut him
apart from the inside. But you are filled up only with the thorns from his
flowers, inside of you there is only air that is being sucked out every single
hour reducing your weight more and more until you’re melting away under the sun
that both of you live with. You don’t match. Because you’re sick. Because he’s
not. Because you’re nameless. Because he has a name that sets your lips
trembling every time they go over it - Kim Seokjin.
Your fingers blur and fuse in a picture of pale skin and computer buttons,
press them and with a single motion you can
create whatever you want, you can model it by your liking, everything is
important, every little thing makes a difference, if you miss a single symbol
and everything will look like a meaningless string of letters and signs. You
feel like yourself only in this moments when you are engulfed by semi-reality
and artificial images, standing before a screen that shows you what you want to
see. You feel like what you do matters exactly at times like this, when you do
what you have the desire to do. You feel like yourself only when you do this,
because you are good at it. You’ve learned that people only betray and lie but
you can’t be fooled by devices that you build for yourself. If they do you can
always restart them and remodel them. You can’t do that with people.But it’s
not necessary to.
Jin throws his head back and his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows
the dry air he had sucked in, then drives his hand through his hair, ruffling
it. His whole face shows an expression you’ve never seen before and it makes
you feel like having a part of Jin that no one else has ever even laid sight
upon and it feels as if you’re special even though he is not aware of your
silent presence in the back corner. You’ve always been invisible. You just sit
there half of your body hanging from the door frame and the rest hiding behind
the wall as you carefully watch as the weather lays on his figure sticking to
his sides and locking with his bones. He looks calm, calmer than he’s ever been
and for the first time in forever he doesn’t radiate the aura of confidence and
he doesn’t smile like he usually does. So for the first time you see him bare
as he really is - still a child that doesn’t pull stares in his direction, a
gentle child that dances between various seasons as they change their colors,
from green to yellow, from yellow to orange.
“How long are you going to stand there?” He asks and you jump, your heart
throbbing painfully in your ribcage as if touching against the hollow bones you
have. They feel like breaking at any moment.
“I..I didn’t mean to..”
“Don’t smile.” You say. It’s the most confident sentence you’ve ever spoken in
your life. It’s scary how it forms and drips off of your tongue like liquid
metal, like a lie that burns your mouth from the inside out. And it’s
delicious. “Don’t smile if you don’t mean it.”
His lips drop from the corners they were pulled up to and when he looks at you,
you look back, stare quietly as if you can look right through each other, as if
your skin is transparent and the bare bone and muscle structure is laid under
it in a skyscraper building of a human.
He traces a path on your hand, a sentence of the book you read before, a book
that held you two together, simple rigid papers whispering against your skin
but the words are scarred under your flesh. He saw you one day reading a book
about stars and about explosions, about meteors that cut through the sky, slice
it in two and falls with the burden of people’s wishes, a burning rock that
bears all the dreams.
“Hello?” you asked as you peeked at his excellence behind the curtain of your
“Do you like that book?”
“What’s your name?”
And you couldn’t help but think that in a moment, a sliver of silver rushing
past the thin lined edges of your lashes there was a question biting at your
tongue. Will you remember my name if I tell you?
“You love stars, don’t you?” You ask as your lips trail butterfly kisses over
He catches his breath, your lips snapping together with a pop as he distances
himself from you but not too much because it feels like separation is an alien
word to you, to both of you.
“Yeah. I do love stars.” He says with a voice, undoubtedly, filled by emotion
so strong that it feels like it’s forcefully breaking apart the string that
holds you together. “But I also love you.”
“What do you love about stars?”
Your fingers walk across the joints of his hip bones, stomach, chest,
collarbones, you trail them up and then back down until your fingers feel numb
and tingling all over. He sighs and lays his head on your shoulder, his hair
tickling your skin.
“I love the way that they die. They live a bright life then shine out. They die
a bright death. When they die there’s an explosion of fire, particles of a
universe that used to be, there’s a beautiful end to something beautiful.
Unlike people. People are what stars aren’t. People don’t get remembered and
the world can continue without them as if nothing ever happened. That’s why I
He doesn’t know it and he never will for you will never tell him, he doesn’t
know it and maybe its fascination comes from his oblivion to it, how deaf and
blind and mute he is to you - he is a star. He resembles a star more than
anything could ever - he shines bright and leaves nothing but a trail of stardust
behind him. He will never know how close he is to the universe he craves.
He shows you light blurs of energy and traces them, marking invisible lines to
draws and sketches the dots in a constellation of what he wants you to know.
“In modern astronomy there are eighty eight
constellations. Can you imagine how many stars are connected together to form a
You can imagine it, surely, because the fascination and excitement settled in
his features convinces you of things that you have never known before - distant
universes and newly born stars that you don’t see yet because, God, they are so
far but so close at the same time or maybe the stars that you see now are
already dead and what you know as the sky now is just leftovers of what
used to be. He looks through cloud stained glasses and lens that open up a
world to him, what he loves is right there, through a window full of black void
and illusions of perishing light.
“You can see Gemini from here.” He leaves his place by the telescope and guides
your hand, you can see it only when he shows you, otherwise you don’t recognize
anything but he knows them by heart. “It’s brightest star is Pollux. Do you
know why is it called that?”
He tells you the legend, the tale of two brothers, twins, Castor and Pollux -
one mortal and one immortal - and how when Castor found his death Pollux
selflessly offered his eternal life to save his brother and how they turned
into a trail of connected dots on the night sky. You love his voice, and maybe
even the story, you love his hot breath against your neck and how much he
knows, and his dream is carved out in front of him, so vivid that if he just
extends his hand it might rest on his palm. He is aware of who he is and who he
wants to be.
And you can’t help wondering a simple thing that you have never asked yourself
But who am I?
For the first time you consider the possibility of being born for something
more than being nameless.You just need to find it.
“What do you wish for?”
It was probably the simplicity of the answer or it was maybe the certainty he
answered with but it was as painful to you as driving a nail through your heart
and abandoning it there, it was as painful as acid boiling in the burned
backside of your throat where the words have died and marked themselves so you
could not differ a lie from truth. It was probably because Jin was all the
things you weren’t or maybe because he was all the things you needed.
“And you? What do you wish for?”
“Only me?” he laughs with a smile that shows a bit too many teeth and
leans down to kiss you “Only me? But you have me already. Is there nothing
Yes. Is there really nothing else? Nothing else than a fear of people
greater than expected and an addiction, a blank screen that blinks back at you.
Am I only this?
Seokjin is used to driving you to school by now, always late and unwilling to
get up, eyes blurred with the fog of sleep and Did you even sleep? he always
asks and you only turn your face towards the window
and a landscape that changes with every blink of your eye, a second and you’ve
missed a whole universe. Today as you are once again enwrapped in the comfort
of him and the front seat that is reserved for you and you only he asks you
again if you have slept but you both know you haven’t. You blink far too
many times to lie.
“So what do you do all night? Think of me?” he smiles, eyes focused on the road
as buildings and skies and the quiet of the morning, right before the world
wakes up, right before reality faces them or they face it, every single thought
they had in mind blurs down to truth and only truth.
“No. I don’t. Only sometimes.”
“Then what do you do?”
Is it that hard to explain? Maybe it is. All you know is that he might never
understand that what keeps you calm is a set bar of codes, zeros and ones, that
fill the blank spaces in your mind, a set of mouse clicking and what keeps you
calm is a program that you can mold into your liking without it trying to
change you back. Those are just the stars you know. For you it’s just like the
stars are to him.
The day the letter arrives it’s scary. It’s in an envelope that seems as if
never touched, preserved by the ages but in fact it’s new, new, new and your
name is tattooed on the front with a stamp
of a nameless lake that suddenly reshapes and takes the form of an eye staring
right at you and the paper feels rigid against your fingertips but you open it
anyway, despite fear blooming inside of your chest as if you’ve swallowed
liquid fire. Your fingers tremble as you tear it apart with no gentleness,
you’re unable to be careful. You take a deep breath and close your eyes but the
fire never goes away. For all you know it has swallowed half of your entrails
by now. When you can wait no more, when your lids open despite you forcing them
to stay down, when you feel that your leg has started bouncing up and down, you
pull the paper out and look at it. And you breathe in deep, so deep your lungs
burst and your eyes feel like popping out. You don’t know if you feel sad or
truly free. You don’t know why your name being tattooed on the paper feels like
a mark. A memento. It feels like you are nameless no more.
“I’m going to college.”
“How do you?”
He smiles and the sadness fills his eyes but only for a while, in the split second between two moments,
before it disappears in the crescents of his eyes that his smile forms and you
touch his face just to make sure he’s real, just to make sure he’s there. He
“I saw you filling the form. Computer technology, huh? Can’t say I’m surprised.”
You think you will miss Seokjin the most. It’s not really as if you’re leaving
forever (maybe only for a while) and it’s not as if you’re going to stop loving
him (as if you ever could) but you think that maybe he will stop loving you.
Maybe it’s going to be distance or not being able to see each other as often
(it’s not that far away but it’s not as if you’re living next door either) and
maybe he will find someone better. His eyes say no. His eyes read you and they
He could never stop loving you. You have become his star that shines above all
of the others in the bright night sky, lit by your glow.
“I’ll miss you. Come back faster. I’ll wait for you.” is what he says. You hope
It’s once again another letter. It comes in the shape of several hundred kisses and rustled edges as if being
folded and unfolded a million times and it comes in a shape very different from
the rigid paper with an eye stamped on it. It comes with the odour of late
night songs and passenger seats, rooftops and shining bright spots whispering
futures and stories until you fell asleep next to the sound of his beating
heart, the paper wears the scent of lavender and home. There is no stamp. Just
a heart drawn with a pink marker. You open it gently, fingers steady and
careful, you open it up like you had opened your heart once, with light touch.
He sends you eighty seven letters for every story he wasn’t able to tell you
himself. A story for every constellation. That’s how you know that he will wait