The Moon on a Frozen Lake

8: Ink Blots

"Son, the line is a bit choppy. Can you hear me?"

"Y-yes." God, he needed to pull himself together. The last thing he needed was to have his mother on his case. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Jihoon fortified his voice with steel so it stopped breaking. "I can. What's up?"

Pushing himself up, he glanced in Yingyue's general direction and mouthed, "Hang on." Without waiting for her response, he turned his back on her and walked towards the glass wall facing the garden. Shame continued to dog his steps.

"I just wanted to greet you a happy new year." The genuine cheer in his mother's voice grated on his ear, calling out his duplicity. "It should be past midnight there, isn't it?"

Was it? He quickly looked at his phone. "Yes, it is."

"How are you son? Are you out with that friend of yours?"

Pressing his forehead against the glass, he tried to make out the shadows outside. Neither a branch nor a leaf distinguished itself. His world was pitch black. "Friend? Which friend?"

"Aya! The one you told me last time, remember? You said you're going to spend the new year with her."

"Ah, yes. That's right."

"So? Everything good?"

He eyed Yingyue from the corner of his eye. She sat where he had left her, hands clasped on her lap and a curtain of hair concealing her face. The picture was a stark contrast to the happy woman from earlier. Just like in his sleep, an image of Leila superimposed itself in the present. Leila had been a happy person, too. Everyone loved her. But then, she got involved with him. Years passed and her shine began to dull. In the end, he'd extinguished it.

And her.

The reminder added to the turbulent emotions already brewing in his ribcage. Jihoon started pacing, suddenly unable to keep still. Perhaps this thing with Yingyue wasn't such a good idea. By using her to keep his nightmares at bay, he was dragging her into it too. He should leave before he wreaks more havoc. After this call, he'd pack his things and get the hell out.

Right. Because when the going gets tough... Kang Jihoon always goes running.

Standing still, Jihoon squeezed his eyes shut.

"Son? Are you still there?"

His mother's distant voice filtered back into his consciousness. For the life of him, he couldn't recall what she'd just asked him, so he made a noncommittal sound. To which, his mother replied, "It seems like you're busy."

"Yeah, now is not a good time."

"Then I won't disturb you anymore. Call me again soon, okay?"

"Okay," he replied.

"Hmmph, you say okay but you always forget."

"I'll really call this time. Ma, I have to go."

A long sigh. "Okay. Your sister and your niece miss you, Xùnxùn. Your appa misses you, too."

Maybe it was the Chinese nickname his mother hadn't used since he was a boy or the mention of his father with whom he barely spoke. Whatever it was, a sudden and intense longing for home hit him hard. Jihoon stopped and braced himself against the wall. Without uttering a response, Jihoon ended the call. A multitude of emotions, including those he'd long suppressed, collided and spun at dizzying speeds. Jihoon's throat worked overtime to tamp everything back down, but the tornado inside him was an unstoppable force. No matter his efforts, something cold and wet dripped from his eye. He wiped it away with an angry swipe.