taeyong seldom exhibits a short temper, or any temper at all really. his stoicism holds up even the most extreme circumstances. sure, he had his episodic fits during his youth, but he matured at an impressive rate. his childhood had been far too idle for provoke any strong emotions which might carry on to his present demeanor. besides, he saw people in their superficialities, in the way they got worked over the most miniscule manners. he knew better, allowed himself to sink into his solitude and focus on matters of the self instead. of course, it could be emotionally draining, but never stirring. he felt deeply, but not violently, like most people. this situation proves no different, not letting his emotions envelop him. instead, he coolly taps his index finger against his leg. the mimmeographed version of himself in the notebook appears as a phantom presence, someone who had haunted him continually up until this point. he woke every morning to the dull ache, the ghost of a love lost, and closed his eyes only to have it emerge hin his dreams. at this stage, it was only another reminder of what they once were, what they couldnât be, that he only looked upon it with a bleak expression. â itâs only one letter. it could be anything. itâs probably just a coincidence that it shares the first letter of my name, â he waves his hand dismissively, the skin itching with the sensation of where the ripped page had once been. that night, he had disposed of the crumped sheet in a fire. taeyong recalled the tears which had swelled like a tidal wave at the sight of flames flickering. as a writer, he HATED tossing any form of writing away, no matter how trivial it was. even with his own, which he frequently criticized, he still let the compositions litter his apartment in a writing wasteland. but the page belonging to byulâs notebook was completely gone. he had thought it would be a permanent solution, perhaps their love dying alongside the embers. but even in the absence of the page, the words were imprinted in his heart and soul that he couldnât just throw away as he did the physical reminder. â maybe you didnât need this one. look itâs still my birthday and i havenât even celebrated yet. i donât think it has to do with me, so iâll be on my way. it was nice seeing you again, â he rounds off his farewell with a melancholy chord. perhaps it had been foolish to form such a wish, byul remembering and all. the residue of the page had prompted his memory, nothing more than that. and the memory wasnât a memory to begin with, only a vague suspicion which he would have needed taeyong to confirm for him. the writer had no plans of doing that, guiding himself to the door with hand trembling over the door knob as he made his departure.
 one day, one day kang byul would fight against the system rearing around his brain, the spinning gears crackling in his mind whenever a memory was recalled. no cure was yet found, but there were exercises to overcome such a disorder. never had the boy done any of those exercises, having them be refused by his nagging mother, not believing it could ever leave. during such occurring events nothing more was needed than a memory, a small piece of images or words popping up back into your brain. memories were such a big part of the daily human life, and some people did not own such a luxury, like the boy hit by a truck on his fourteenth birthday. selfishness was never there, he didnât greedily try to take back the remembrance of occasions, conversations and everything else. but during times like these, when anxiety ran high and energy ran low, they were appreciated. something, ANYTHING could help to fit the puzzle back together, but no one was giving him those pieces. ââdo you think ? itâs right after your page, it must have been about youââ but words faltered, left in open air to drift around. his neighbor was leaving, like everyone did. crazy, is what could be roaming trough the manâs brain. how crazy byul had been for losing his mind over a mere birthday. but oh how familiar taeyong looked whenever he saw him cross the hall, how his physique kept reminding him of something stuck between those very spinning gears. something had been going on, and the entire world was blocking him from knowing. backs were turned, hushed whispers so byul could not hear, was kept from him. as soon as the man tried to leave, a shaky noise fell from parted lips, eyes never meeting those of his neighbor. ââyou might think iâm insane right ? you donât believe me, the words i say you dismiss them as insanity, craziness-- i donât blame youââ voice soft, the softest of smiles grazing his full lips. ââbut i donât think you have no clue what iâm talking about; you know something, i am sure of itââ it was a suspicion that had run for longer than just today, always in the back of his mind. ââsomething happened between us, didnât there ? did we fight, or did we lose our friendship ? what was it taeyong, canât you help me figure it out ?ââ that same smile was kept, yet the watery liquid threatening to slide down his cheeks replaced the entire mood. ââiâm losing my fucked up mind over here, no one is telling me what happened, why i keep feeling like i went trough some sort of heartbreak in the past-- you seem to fit the puzzle of that one memory that replays over and over in front of me-- please, tell me what happened between usââ