1.2 | Anemoia

2|two

A/N: Long chapter. But from now on, mostly all chapters will be this length, at least.

The world often stood on its ends some days, the gossamer clouds hanging morosely from the sky and on Tae Shin's mind. He had neither the will nor the compelling need to move his feet and pretend he was going around at work all day, when he had his soul being crushed with the force of a thousand hydraulic presses. 

Tae Shin's profession demanded interaction, and people demanded his smile. Over time, Shin felt as if his smile had lost its meaning. Become cheap, like a throwaway coin one would toss to a beggar on the subway. Shin sighed and turned his eyes heavenwards, the bunch of blue forget-me-nots (ironically his favorite flowers) slapping against his pant leg. 

The old watchman gave Shin a little nod when he signed his name in the entry, now familiar enough to exchange little diagnoses of coughs and colds, and free prescriptions. The old watchman had pity in his eyes, as if he knew Shin's story from before, better than he himself. As if everybody else didn't. 

Sighing, Shin entered the columbarium garden, noticing how his mother's (and his own) burnt ashes were placed in one of the city's finest memorials. Multitudes and rows of grey granite with emerald coloured grass floor, columbariums with shiny glasses reflecting how sadness looked like to the watcher. 

"If you are going to look at me like that, better look away," Tae Shin said to the faint reflection of a man in the glass before him. "How did you know I was going to be here today?" 

"Just a hunch," the man stepped forward, his hand holding the same bouquet Shin held. "You come here whenever you're feeling down or happy." 

"You said you wouldn't keep tabs on me, Mr. Yun," Shin said. 

"This is a father's concern, Yun HwaShin." 

Tae Shin didn't need an introduction to Yun JeongSuk. His chilling voice, the cold winds and sounds of waves crashing against grainy sand was an enough introduction. 

Count till a thousand. 

Those words, however, had lost their dread. 

"Won't you say something?" 

"I am afraid we have nothing to talk about, Mr. Yun." 

JeongSuk stifled a bitter laugh. "How many times do I have to tell you? Call me Appa, you brat." His hand came to rest on the back of Shin's head. His touch incited no tremor in Shin, no racing of the pulse, no vindictive fear, no joy. 

If there was someone who was happy about the state Shin was in, it was Yun JeongSuk. Shin remembered his first words when they spoke. 

"Do you really remember nothing?" 

It had been a day like that, about eight years ago, the same place, the same feeling, the same season. When Tae Shin had met his father. 

"And you are?" Tae Shin squinted. The boy of seventeen balled his fists tightly, heart hammering against his rib cage. The man wasn't unfamiliar, he was on the primetime news telecasts, on big posters in big cities, a well known lawmaker. 

"I'm your father," the man said with a two-faced, guilty smile in his eyes. 

***

"I must be like those old dusty books on the very back of your shelf, Mr. Yun." There was no emotion seeping down to his collarbones and settling on top of his heart. "The ones you can forget and claim back at your own discretion." 

Four years, and the relationship between them was just the same. 

JeongSuk's mouth curved in a cold line, the agony and regret seeping downwards. A decade ago, Shin might have sensed his rage and put a limit on his words, doing him a favour and not hurting him. The Shin he had become hence, was too lost to care for someone like him.