He was uncertain of knowing if his life already got to that turning point or how soon it would but it seemed Taeil's was at a big one right now. Dongyoung blamed Taeil for everything from the low monthly sales numbers, to the small, unorganized office which he'd once accidentally called "shithole". His messy hair became the joke, obviously because his messy hair had also been one of the reasons for the office's unproductive performance.

"You piece of shit. You haven't once run a decent project, have you? What is this? Why would we need to know about Scandinavian design style? We are AREN'T selling furniture here but COMESTICS, focus on that."

Dongyoung threw the three-month old magazine edition straight to the content manager's face. He just stood there in silence, solemnly almost. Taeyong watched and watched how the manager's shoulders slumped further down each second past by, as if there was a gigantic, invisible and unknown rock crushing down, condemning him and him only for all the crimes committed on this world. Taeil had never been good at fighting back, at anybody, for anything. The fact that he'd never utter even a single word to make his mother stay, never stood up and defended himself against his dearest mother's vicious words that he'd always been a failure of her life and only a failure like him would ever wanted to live in this deserted, abandoned town; added up to that forever silence. How did Taeyong know? That day he'd come to his friend's new house for calebration only to be stopped at the front door by the mother's yelling from the inside, so much like a mad woman. Taeil had never known. Taeil still took everything in like a bag not only with no bottom but ripped with dozens and dozens of holes on the body. "It's alright", he would say, "life is still good".

Taeyong could only guess the reasons his "Valey Town" was loved by many and became exceptionally meaningful to the office staffers. Maybe the images of this town Taeyong created did such a good job at comforting the lonesome souls that went too far away from home, making them forget that all they signed up for was only this awfully quiet and peaceful exile, just because back in the day they hadn't done enough to be wanted. That too, was a crime.

The exile was indeed very nice, so no one batted an eye, not even when Dongyoung was the one who did nothing productively besides yelling at people then convicted them for already obvious mistakes. Taeyong was positive that this turning point would soon stop turning and whatever it would be at the outcome he hoped things to get better because, well, their sales statistics started looking pretty good, which meant money. Girls of Sales and Marketing desk had been going out all days, running back and forth between the town and the city. Freight boys had been busier than ever, often absent for even longer trips. Taeyong and Taeil had been holding presentations twice a week, made plans even for a year ahead, updated websites like robots (and very effective ones at that). Things would get better; he was sure, because they had been working and would continue working like a real representative trading office.

But then Dongyoung suddenly used Korean during work. He gave instructions by Korean, sometimes talked on phone by Korean but mostly he scolded Taeil solely by Korean. And realization came like a wrecking ball to Taeyong; Dongyoung had known that Taeyong couldn't speak Korean fluently.

Taeil often looked at him briefly and miserably, at some point with a guilty expression which he didn't get why. His superior tried to report to the boss once in English but it only triggered in Dongyoung a tantrum like never before. Taeyong let that slipped too, even when Dongyoung commented on his usual weekly ENGLISH presentations by that alien Asian language.

"Life is still good, isn't it?" Taeil once again sat on the same next chair beside Taeyong, on the same porch.

"Yeah, I guessed." Taeyong murmured the answer, lost in his own thoughts.

"Do you think that tyrant will throw these chairs away when he got back?" Taeyong chuckled at the scenario somehow sourly, for a moment wishing "that tyrant" would never come back even if he knew it was impossible.

"We can only hope he won't do that." They dropped the talk when saw one of the sales girls who just came back from a business trip, approaching them and gave them some snacks. They chatted a bit about the snow, firewood running out, frozen water.... Yes, winter had come to the valley.

When the two were left by themselves to finish their lunch, Taeil seemed a little bit off. There was a long pause before he asked a very serious question. "Do you believe in what you write?"

Taeyong was surprised but thought long and hard enough before answering obediently, with honesty. "Not quite. I mean...all the things I've written are trash anyway. I mean...I was paid for those words. How can you believe in something like that?"

The other day Taeyong found himself wearing a pair of shoes that was a little too tight for him. Of course it was because he'd "owned" them for five years now. They were not new, and also not originally his. The white color had turned in a shade of dark gray, the shoelaces worn out and if he used them for a long walk, his feet would get hurt. However, tonight he had been rambling around his small house for an hour in an absolute comfort, allowing his mind off to the farthest memories he could recall.

Just by look, strangers could have called Jaehyun a bright kid compared to many others, including Taeyong himself, except that the kid had some kind of bipolar disorder which his parents had done everything to keep it a secret. He used to have more maniac episodes than bouts of depression. When he was in a mania, he always ran into the forest and stayed there for hours. Yes, that forest, under daylight, from every place of town Taeyong could find those dark green masses easily, most of time they suffused like broken nights and awful dreams, other times they got real close, surrounding the town like an enemy's army. Jaehyun could suddenly get sad and cry, about the smallest thing that made him upset, but most of the time he cried because he hated the valley, everything inside it. At times like those, he would climb the mountain. Yes, that mountain, from here Taeyong could see it, too.

The disorder had been healed quite spectacularly, or their parent made it seemed so. The long walks and climbs must have helped. He'd grown up and went through puberty without any attempt of suicide. He'd become handsome and done so well with schools even though he'd disputed schools so damn much. On one particular mid-July night he'd left behind this pair of shoes at Taeyong's front door. He'd fled, as he himself written in the letter, and Taeyong had never gone to the station. Taeyong had been confused; he'd not known why he had to flee; the kid had begged but never explained. So after such fruitless effort, Jaehyun, sweet and strong and patient Jaehyun, had come to this door one last time just to be gone forever. Jaehyun had left his shoes here on the night of his first journey, bare-footed. Sweet and strong Jaehyun got out of the valley at his twenty, left everything behind, including Taeyong. Taeyong stayed, with old scars on his wrists, with cyclothymia going on about two years after, with a full-time paid job. Then things normalized due to the thing people called maturity. Days and nights were just days and nights apart from the ones of Jaehyun's letters' arrival; they changed to something else, nostalgic and full of sleepless dreams. Taeyong never wrote back a single word but letters still came to him regularly, once a month, sometimes three months, or maybe five. But they did come.

Together with letters were pictures, a lot of pictures, of trees, cliffs and hills, roads, bridges, sun and moon, houses, people, animals...but in any of those, Jaehyun'd never once appeared. Taeyong now forgot what his old friend looked like but it was fine, he guessed, plenty of things could make up for that. There were notes of foreign words of different languages, scripts of alien hieroglyphs, paragraphs written out of local literature works, torn book pages with full of circles and annotations in bold pencil lines, explanations of custom and culture of lands Taeyong had never heard of. That was a whole big world outside of the valley, Taeyong measured.

Jaehyun had stopped fleeing long ago. Now he was searching.

Taeyong remained being not sure why he had to flee if he ever does it.

No one asked Kim Dongyoung to stop using Korean in a Scandinavian office located in a god damn Scandinavian valley. Taeyong just watched as IT happened. First there was only Dongyoung using Korean by himself. Then he forced his fellow Korean colleagues to do so. Taeil had to use the language with his boss when they talked business. And now everyone was using it even when Dongyoung wasn't anywhere near them. It was like the linguistic reflection one of his professors once talked about. One can't stop using his tongue when his fellow countrymen are willing to use it. Taeyong understood very well, and he kept his mouth in a closed thin line whenever he was in the office. Everyone started to forget that he existed, too; that he also had a Korean name. The most unexpected thing happened, to him, was that sometimes his friend, his comrade forgot as well, only sometimes. But Taeyong couldn't really blame anyone, he'd been left out for too long and he'd done nothing to get back in. He now knew he was an outsider from the very start. To this valley town, he was an outsider, because he didn't look Scandinavian or Celtic, didn't have blue or grey eyes, blonde or brown hair or at least a Latin alphabetical name. To this office, he was without too; for the one fault his boss imposed on him only - being so unable to understand whatever significant things comes out of his fellow Koreans' mouths. He was singled out in anywhere. He didn't belong to anything. Was this the reason Jaehyun had to flee? Taeyong shuddered at the question that came too sudden in his mind. He had never thought of Jaehyun during work.

And today's break was full of Korean too. Even though Taeyong didn't understand he quite made it out what the mirth was about. Sales desk just hit the jackpot with highest monthly revenue ever. Taeil's project got the magazine featured on many popular websites. Taeyong tried hard to make himself appear to be busy. In fact, he lost track with what was going on around him since the morning. At time like this, to prevent a dysthymic episode from coming, he got back with his weird and depressing vocabulary.

.torschlusspanik

(n.) fear that time is running out to achieve life goals. Literally gate shutting panic.

It didn't help, at all.

Taeyong used the Jaehyun's shoes to go out for a walk before winter could get any worse. That was a strange day of winter. The sun was high, no clouds in sight and the sky painted in light blue color. The air was clear like crystal. Cold and clear. Far-off was the snow-covered forest. It looked like silence. Tranquility. The small stream up in the mountain must have been frozen together with the trees. What his parents and the old folks could possibly do in this kind of cold, in middle of nature? From here everything was static; the town was quiet, too. Taeyong walked and walked. His footprints engraved on the soft, white snow.

Taeil came to Taeyong one winter day. They had been spending time together less and less, mostly because the chairs on the porch had been removed just like they had feared, a welcome booth replaced, filled with new products, fliers and brochures. So they had no choice besides standing by the new booth, exposed to the sleet. "It's good to talk in English, you know." Taeil exclaimed, showing that he was aware of Taeyong's problem.

"It is." Taeyong gave a small smile, then refocused on his coffee. Long pause.

"How did we end up in this shithole?" Taeyong turned, eyes wide in surprise. Taeil didn't return his eyes. He kept staring to the snowy sky.

"I feel like we shouldn't have lived this way but then how should we do it I do not know." Taeyong brows knitted, and for a moment he felt like he was listening to Korean all over again.

"If something happens right now, Taeyong. Like if I say "I love you" to you, neither as brothers nor friends, what will you say?" Taeil seemed and sounded... so strange. But Taeyong didn't quite figure out how and why. He didn't even understand what had been said.

"What?" Taeil reached his hands out to grab Taeyong's face in a swift, panicking movement; while on his own face, a crooked, distorted smile bloomed. "I love you. Would you say yes?" Taeyong blinked.

"Yes."

"Yes to what?" The older cut him off in a very unpleasant manner, rude almost.

"Yes, I love you, too." Taeil crumbled. He withdrew his hands to place them on his face. Taeyong didn't understand what the hell was going on.

"Wrong answer, Taeyong. Why? You know the answer but you still say yes?" The supervisor thickened his voice with the anger and disappointment Taeyong had not once known. At this very moment he wondered – why him, out of all the people here, people back there in Seoul, why on earth Taeyong had to be the first person ever for Taeil to raise his voice at, and to show those kinds of emotions, why?

"What is the answer, then?" Taeil shook his head, said nothing more. And Taeyong, as consistent as always, would show the poor man the only thing he ever had – a humbled, silent loyalty, to be on his side at time like this, no matter what happens, asking nothing more. In order to keep this thin, strained string stayed attached; Taeyong couldn't afford to be nosy.

Back at home, that night, Taeyong repeated the talk with Taeil over and over in his head. The more he did it, the more reassuring he found by convincing himself that Taeil was just referring to a hypothetical situation. That was not very rich for what he conceived of through those emotional words and unclear implications. At that moment, a question which Taeil had provoked ran through his mind, what if Taeil loves me? And he did choose an answer. Yes, I love him, too. Where was the wrong part Taeil had claimed? He did love Taeil, his best friend, soulmate and life savior, and if "savior" and the like were too excessive, "brother" would do.

He'd said yes without hesitation because it was Taeil, and Taeil would do him no harm. Because the idea of Taeil felt right. Because in the rest of his life, if not Taeil, who would spend their lifetime with him? He could think of no one. Who would be willing to stay at this valley with him? Only Taeil would. Taeil would stay. Taeil wouldn't flee away. Taeil wouldn't ask him to do things he wasn't capable of. On top of all, he stayed, that was all Taeyong had ever needed. He believed in Taeil.

On a late winter morning, snow was piling up outside. The valley was engulfed in whiteness, all boundaries erased. Inside the office, it was safe and warm. Taeyong sat in his chair, hands flat on his desk. The conversation between Dongyoung and one of the freight boys raging at the entrance threshold had his attention for a while now. He didn't understand since most parts of it were spoken in Korean but he could guess, for recently he had developed such a talent of guessing what people were talking about. He'd done quite a splendid job. He'd also kept track on the schedules, statistics, plans just in case since his boss's most severe beratements always related to staff's ineffectiveness; still, more than anyone he knew the precaution, in no way, could bring him a sudden understanding of any foreign language in just few weeks. On the other hand, those things did help evoking an illusion that he'd been doing something to change the situation. Dongyoung seemed to forget how to speak English all together, as if this valley were another Seoul or Seoul itself Taeyong had no way to define anymore because it sure did look, and feel like one (not that he had a sense of how Seoul supposed to feel like and look like). But something else mattered – that was him alone failed to make a significant difference, as in by his presence reminding the people working in this office that "no, here isn't our home". The man in charge continued acting like a mad and vicious villain one could find in those damn old novels. Taeyong eventually tried to put his poor Korean vocabulary into use but failed to converse from time to time. Today, something drove his boss rather insane, his voice high-pitched and constantly cutting off the other guy. Apparently he couldn't find anyone willing to drive the truck hundreds of kilometers mountain-road to pick up the new shipment from Korea at the big city's airport in this kind of weather. When it snowed, hard like today, the valley became almost isolated. No one got in and no one got out. But had such a perfect timing the production run-out chosen to start: just right after winter lotions' orders had arrived at the office like a flood of good news, only to be welcomed with a kind of party he'd never witnessed within these walls. As worse as it could get, the snow wouldn't seem to cease falling anytime soon. It explained Dongyoung's frustration, the fun party which hadn't reached its climax yet, was cut off just like that, by no one's fault. Most important of all, the rare chance to make big money was slipping right off Dongyoung's hands at any moment. If that happened, of course the long held title "Salesman of the Year" of his would say goodbye too.

No way Dongyoung would let that happened.

After debating for almost half an hour without obtaining agreement which in this case Taeyong might want to call "sacrifice for the boss", the man in charge decided the only solution left was to call a local driver over. Turned out the conversation had to be in English since the driver wasn't some Korean like the bunch of them, obviously. Taeyong joined the audience, busy wondering to himself if Dongyoung found the inevitability this situation forced on him annoying; Taeyong doubted not would think him standing and listening to his English talk so useless in making the atmosphere any more pleasant than the way it was (not that the big boss got insecure with his English skills or something).

"No one is driving that far in this kind of weather." Suddenly Taeyong thought of how well he knew of that old driver who had always lived near the forest. So fucking well.

"But the snow has ceased falling. We'll pay you double, even triple, ok?" It needed not two seconds for the old man to give his answer. He waved his hand off and shook his head in such regretful manner often seen in the bees when they had to leave the flowers which they already knew were toxic. He then proceeded on his way almost immediately; a glance was quickly sent to where Taeyong stood and Taeyong fought with all his might to keep his face remained nonchalant.

Doyoung stormed inside, past Taeyong and stood in the middle of the room, yelled. "WHO is going to get them god-damn-packages?!"

Surprisingly, he knew to speak in English not any sooner but only now - talk about irony, huh? Taeyong looked around, nobody looked up. It'd been an amusement for Taeyong to see Dongyoung failed to get what he wanted right.away. Taeyong wished he could have the courage to tell him to go out, drive and get them damn packages by-him-self. But he held back and sneakily watched the anger on big boss's face flourished, like cherry blossoms in spring. Now big boss started throwing anything he could get his hands on to the ground. The violent behavior struck fear to every single one of the staff, the silence only richened. Who could believe he would be this desperate?

"I'll go."

With perfect spoken English, that was from Taeil. And the moment sank in seemingly too long to bear. Taeyong's eyes darted to see Taeil's face. He couldn't be serious, could he? How on earth would that forever quiet, calm and old-fashioned young man want to volunteer for such suicidal task, for someone as selfish as Dongyoung? A voice in that exact moment rang in Taeyong's ears, his breath shaken.

"No. Taeil. You stay here." Taeil calmly watched Taeyong's terrified expression. He would not change his mind, his eyes just said so loudly. The moment dragged on, Taeyong wasn't so sure anymore; one of the freight boys trying to talk sense into his supervisor; the girls yelling something out of their lungs; Dongyoung encouraging him with praises...

His silence.

No, Dongyoung. Dongyoung. Dongyoung.

Korean words again and again and again.

Noises from the phones, the fax...

Keys crashing on the ground.

The old man's gaze on him.

That ringing voice in his ears....

That voice in his head turned out to be his own voice repeating what Jaehyun had written in the letter, about the places where people didn't rush others, where they gave all the time and space a person needed.

Where the hell had he been? A paradise?

Those few hundreds of kilometers were the only way to get out of this valley, he knew this damn much. To get out of this valley one had to drive up and drive down a hill then another hill and another, he knew this too. In summertime, a trip on that winding, scenic road would be a wonderful memory but in wintertime, especially in snowing and freezing days like today, people didn't even think about igniting their car's engine. This was the fourth year living here for Taeil, how did he not know?

"I want to, that's all." Taeil shrugged decisively to calm everyone down. Did he? Taeyong questioned himself, not quite believed it.

Dongyoung, on a completely opposite mood, was more than glad when he pushed Taeil out of the door to the big trunk lying outside waiting in the wintry weather.

"But you have stopped driving for ages!!!" Taeyong cried, rather hopelessly. He ran out, trying to reach Taeil like a crazy man. Many things crossed his mind during that fleeting moment – there must be something I can use to stop him. Right, a word, like I always do, a single word, or a right sentence, which is it? Love him? I said it already, only to send him into despair, then what. Then what? Then what? Why there are so many words? I know plenty of them, don't I? They are the only thing I'm good at.

"I know how to drive, Taeyong. Don't worry!" Taeil yelled back at him and smiled brightly and bravely before the outlines of his shape got swallowed by the snowfall, fading away into nothingness as he walked away.

Taeyong stood there forever.

Only if the snow somehow could swallow him alive for real then he'd gladly be exempt from the burdens of existing or existing itself, he wished.

It all was from Taeyong. The thought of Taeil staying, by his side, forever. He created that idea on his own.

And of course Taeil didn't make it back, or he had never wanted to. One wicked turn had him for good. Snow was falling so heavily but he didn't stop for one moment then flash! –he was gone for eternity. Two days after the incident, they found the car lying deep down at the bottom of the abyss, covered in a heap of winter lotions. That same day the police came to the valley to take Dongyoung for an investigation. Other staffers were just questioned briefly. The office would be closed, for how long no one knew. Things just fell apart naturally, compared to how slow for them to get to this point; it was a quick end, quite rushed yet conclusive, though not very satisfying.

Somehow Taeyong knew, that Taeil had always wanted to get out of this valley. He'd wanted to do it so badly. Taeil might have always been craving for this kind of thrill in his life. Or he'd just simply wanted to get away from Kim Dongyoung for a few hours or so. How many times had he been bullied by that man? Taeyong missed the chance to ask. Now he couldn't. Taeyong'd never asked what was wrong. What did he say to you? What was the problem this time? Are you fine? Do you want to talk about it? He'd never cared. He just acted like he cared because, to be honest, hadn't he himself got bullied too, so much worse than what the deceased had suffered.

At first, his death didn't hit him that hard. It was certainly real, but it just happened to him that someone had disappeared because of someone else.

Not until the funeral, which was arranged by the sales girls, Taeyong came to know that Taeil's mother had passed away too, probably a year ago or so. No one knew a damn thing. He'd acted fine all along. He'd never uttered a word about it, or shed a tear, or booked a flight and yet he'd always talked so highly of her, so frequently, so vehemently.

Taeyong refused to give a speech in that sad and gloomy event. The frozen ice on top of the ground was too tough to make a deep hole for the coffin but it turned out fine after much effort. Sales girls and freight boys shared their thoughts about the decedent. A good person, one of the kindest, beloved by everyone, they said. Taeyong barely registered to his surroundings. He stared thinking how shallow the hole seemed to be, it had to be cold to lie here in this kind of weather, what would be written on his headstone, it should be something sweet. Then his mind changed to think about how bad Taeil had wanted to get out of this shithole but now he had to stay in it forever, on this solitude ground, right next to the forest. When the coffin was put down, Taeyong merely sent him his goodbye.

"Jooleh, Taeil."

One of the kindest men alive had died.

Taeyong stayed by his windowsill for days, from where he could see the forest.

During these longest hours, Taeyong remembered every time Taeil had come and asked if life was still good. As he thought about it, he realized for each time he'd asked, something had probably gone wrong but Taeyong had always ignored. No, it was hardly the case; there had been something more to it – he had token it like an ironic remark, an amusement to the difficult circumstance they'd been in, in hope their funny little game somehow would have eased the pain. The question was an offer and the positive answer from him was very much a reply of complicity. And he'd answered yes every damn time. There was this tiny chance that Dongyoung wasn't the disaster after all. Disaster came from elsewhere, from the inside even.

When did Taeil lose it? Was it the time he asked if Taeyong loved him? Would things have been better if he said "no, I don't love you", would Taeil have survived? Why had he asked such question anyway? Taeyong should have come find him and talked it out. Taeil might have known it all along. He had lived here for four years, someone must have talked, not all of it, but enough for him to get a hunch. Things like those that Taeyong had heard.

That is the maniac boy. Don't know why he stayed here for all those years.

That maniac boy was left behind by another maniac boy.

There were once two crazy Korean boys, he was one of them.

The valley town had always been a small town indeed. Taeyong walked through and survived all the whispers, the stares with just few scars on his wrists. Taeil must have heard the story that Taeyong'd never told, and could never. Not anymore. That had to be the reason for those absurd questions. Taeyong had understood everything and yet he kept silence which was so much worse than lying. He'd been afraid. He needed Taeil by his side. Little did he know that by shutting his mouth, Taeil had been left to no choice. Maybe that wasn't a hypothetical situation after all. Maybe Taeil waited for him to share his secret so he could share his. Maybe Taeil would have wanted to spend the rest of his life here if only Taeyong was being more honest.

A thousands maybes.

With too much leisure gained from the generosity of being unemployed, Taeyong spent a whole morning treading all the way up to his parents' little, lonely cottage on the mountain. Winter just reached its prime, making the air ripen with bleakness together something so close to pure emptiness. Vast. Everything was so breathlessly immense. If one can ever go beyond the event horizon of a black hole, the other side must be... must be something like this – white, vast, quiet, filled with rapture and nothing scary – like death, like winter, like the valley, he whispered.

Taeyong always paid visits every winter since the first year they moved. For today, he wanted so badly to see his beloved ones, to let hours go by watching them doing nothing but breathing, living, talking, everything.

Much to his disappointment, Taeyong only got a piece of paper tucked between two closed doors. The house looked deserted, most of it covered in snow. His parents had left months ago for a new journey in order to find a resting place and write their books until death would do them part like the two romanticists they were. No information on where he could possibly find them was left. But it was fine though, they were all grown-ass adults.

So in the end, he who came to find comfort was abandoned in an absolute isolation.

Time from then went by insufferably slowly. A day near the end of winter, he wore Jaehyun's shoes, came out of his house to watch people carrying the office's furniture away. They were moving back to Korea, all of them. The exile was eventually over. From afar, he could get a glimpse of his blue, five-year-old desk. The brown one once belonged to Taeil. The staffers said goodbye briefly, they looked sad but no one shed tears. It had to feel so good to actually have a home to go back to. The exile had come to an end. Good for them. He never saw Dongyoung, not once, maybe never again. He was thankful for that. The office's doors were going to be closed for a long time, Taeyong smiled at that thought. He looked at the patio where no chairs were there to be found again. How fast things turned, vanished into thin air, and gone forever. Shaking his head, Taeyong once again tried to make this precarious feeling in his heart gone, it faded back to the pale, forlorn pile of many other precarious things which he wanted nothing to do with anymore.

By the time it got dark, Taeyong found himself walking deep into the forest. This system of nature was not strange to him. He knew the path just as well as his old old friend did. So he kept walking on the trail Jaehyun had walked many times during their childhood days, with the exact shoes Jaehyun had used.

There were laughters of two kids inside Taeyong's head. Jaehyun could easily hurt himself by tripping over his own feet, and next moment he would laugh it off like tripping was such a fun game to him. Sometimes he laughed too much or did something with too much energy. Sometimes Jaehyun incidentally hurt Taeyong too without realizing it. At other times, he cried over nothing or punched his chest. Other times he didn't react to anything like a disabled person who couldn't hear, talk or see.

Taeyong's case wasn't as worse. He just liked throwing things at people. He couldn't sleep many nights. He got sad all the time. He never smiled. Those two crazy kids were running in and out the forests like some kinds of ghosts and it sent people chills. Sometimes they cried running, sometimes they laughed doing so.

When his legs gave in because of the long haul, Taeyong were still being surrounding by the trees while his mind wandering back and forth between the present and past. His eyes couldn't penetrate this thick and cold darkness. Why just only now he could feel the cold? The Scandinavian cold in late winter could kill any man. But that didn't matter in the moment.

He lied down on the plane of fresh snow below. Darkness pounced on him like a pride of lions catching the prey. His thought went back to Taeil, imagining that he too must have been in this position the seconds before death consumed him – back flat, unable to move, incredibly hurt, darkness and silence and coldness sneaking into his body. "That's it", Taeyong giggled. "That's it".

Except for that was not it. He slowly opened his eyes again, unsurprised to find himself still breathing, lying on a wooden bed, under a heap of blankets which smelled like smoke and dried grass mixed together, in a creepily familiar log house. Bright, warm light poured on him, comfortingly. He sat up to look at the furniture designed in Scandinavian style – one of the many random things he'd written about. Then his eyes fixed on the fireplace nearby – the source of the warmth creeping in his veins. He was safe. Yet, the next second, a sheer realization not of the should-be-joyful revelation of being alive still, but of his savior's identity, hit him like the loud, never-ending ringing sound of a church bell, toward which he'd harbored so much hatred.

"You woke? Care to eat?" The craziest driver in town who lived just outside the forest was making his way awfully slowly to Taeyong. His old, wrinkled white face showed with concerns. His grey eyes searched for any signs of unwellness from the young man.

"You could die lying out there, you know." Yeah...That wasn't the plan but doesn't sound so bad, he shrugged irritably, remembering that his trip to the forest was in fact to find this house. There was something to say this time, this he remembered as well.

"If on that fucking day you had gone for those god-damn packages, Taeil wouldn't have had to die. Why do the likes of you still exist?"

The old man simply looked down, unaffected. "Say what you need to say."

And Taeyong erupted.

"WHY DID YOU DO IT? TO HIM? HE WAS JUST A CHILD!" His voice shrieked, cracking like crystals crashing and shattering on the ground. The condemnation came across in an unexpected painful tone.

"I DID NOTHING!" The man shouted back, voice filled with anger and tiredness as if it was the one hundredth time he had to repeat the same words.

"YOU ALMOST RAPED HIM! YOU RUINED HIS LIFE! YOU RUINED MY LIFE AND NOW YOU KILLED TAEIL! ABOVE OF ALL, YOU ARE STILL BREATHING! WHYYYY?!!!!"

All the accused chose to do was to shut his mouth tight, refusing to give even an attempt of vindicating himself to such ridiculous charges which, as if, were all too fictional, as if the complainant knew, before anyone else, were so not true. He went back to his chair and sat down in stiff movements, then stayed there completely still like a cold, hard rock. Even his breathing seemed to stop. His eyelashes didn't move for a long time. This kind of behavior was to invite only one thing – the guest should leave. Taeyong wiped the tears on his face; and found his way out as quickly as possible, head lowered in either defeat or shame, or both.

Snow had started to fall again before Taeyong could get back to his small house. He stumbled in front of the door, his purplish lips murmuring a series of curses at his weak, useless limps. Never had he felt the valley this cold and dark. Just the other day, it'd been so bright, peaceful still, like a heaven with nothing scary at all, even a god. Now he could die just by looking at those magnitudes of colors stretching out to infinity, so far yet so close, too alike with the haunting nightmares of his early days. One more second spending on the outside he would lose his breath, but he didn't. The clarity of consciousness swept back in a flash and suddenly he could breathe again.

A letter was lying inside the threshold.

Ah...

He moaned, tears flowing again. He hadn't left... He is still here... Taeyong crouched down on the ground, crying out something like 'the only one who hasn't left... is the only who is not here'. His shaking hands pressed the letter to his chest and squeezed it so tightly. His handsome face became distorted, shining with tears. Half of an hour passed by like that, and then the poor man managed to drag his body to the bedroom table, flopped it down with the letter almost scrunched in his hand. He sat there, trembling for a good while before opening the long-awaited precious piece of paper, sent from god-know-where place of earth. How many months was it? Five? Six? A year?

"Dear Taeyong,

Last night I couldn't hold it back. It made me think that the bipolar disorder finally caught up with me. I cried over the memories of us. The night you never came to me, and the shoes I left at your door. I wonder if you keep them still.

My parents who went back to Korea many years ago now are trying to reach to me. They wanted me there. I told them I can't go without you because I wouldn't survive. We talked about that peninsula which our parents referred as "home" so many times, you remember? It was no home to us. It still isn't. It's just another peninsula.

You were my home, Taeyong. At every moment I step my foot on a foreign soils, when I had to hold on my sense of identity, I think of you. I have loved you all this time. I loved you back then, at the valley and I still love you now, when I'm in middle of nowhere. You are the only reality that lasted, kept me going.

But last night was hard. That thought came back, in a moment managed to persuade me. That it all was my fault. It was my fault that I ran too far ahead of you, that I turned to that god-damn path, that I didn't resist the attraction of that mysterious log house. It was my fault too that I let what happened after made us crazy.

On that mid-July night, I shouldn't have waited, or hesitated. I should have just knocked on your door then held your hand and taken you with me. Now it has caught me and bit me in the neck to let me know that even if I flee to the end of the world, nothing will ever change.

Now I fear. On this messy bed in a gloomy room of a gloomy hotel, I sat and watched the rain outside and thought maybe you are no longer living, maybe something had happened, and maybe you also went away for good. And it's because of me, I caused it. I'm so sorry.

J."

Taeyong tried hard to stop it but he couldn't. His arms failed to support his torso, he slumped forwards, chest flat on the table and then let out a strangled cry, almost a scream. Deep inside he felt it as well; it finally caught up with him and he was sure that it wouldn't leave him alive this time but no matter. Because if that was the case, he would stop being human, being himself; he would be something else, a falling star, a snowflake, aurora... and all of his sufferings would end as well.

Hours passed, outside a new dawn just broke and the snow had stopped falling. The sleepless Taeyong moved his hand to the left side of his table. He reached for a pen and a blank paper. And because he had lied still in that position for the whole night, his movements became awkward, his hand stiff and shaky.

After considerate effort, he now held the paper and the long unused pen in his hands, his back straight, and his eyes dried. It seemed to be a lengthy reply for the very first time, he fathomed, but more than that this letter would be an honest one filled with words he could actually believe in.

Taeyong wrote again and very soon after he also fled, out of the valley.

End.