nightfall || minsung

Chapter 19

Four minutes and twenty-three seconds later, my fingers slowed and stopped on the keys. I gathered enough courage to look at him.

He shook his head. And again. "That's beautiful. I love it."

Something in my expression must have encouraged him to keep talking.

"It's... sad. Do you, I dunno, wanna talk about it? Why it's sad?"

"The answer is sad."

"We can still—"

"Let's not talk about it, my love. I wanna be happy with you."

His eyes were narrowed but he nodded. He took my hand and held it tight.

"Okay. Can I see more of the house?"

"Of course." I got up and pulled him with me. "Um, I guess I'll start here. This is Haseong's bread maker. He tries to make bread with it sometimes."

"You're a terrible tour guide." Felix was suddenly between us, our arms over his shoulders. "I'm taking over. Here we have an old-ass clock. It doesn't work, it's pretty banged up and soaked — but hey, what else would you expect from a clock you found on the Titanic?"

"On the what?" Minho squeaked.

"This is a painting Jisung made in forty-two," Felix moved on. "You'll notice it looks strangely Picasso-ish, and that's because Jisung lacks originality."

"Felix."

"He was all like 'I'm gonna draw my future like Picasso—'"

"Over here," I enunciated, "is a restored part of the house because it caved in a year ago when Felix thought it would be cool to walk around in hollowed-out walls."

"And I was completely right." Felix pulled back a strip of wall, stepped inside and disappeared.

"I'm sorry about him," I said.

Minho took my hand again. "It's nice."

"What is?"

"Your painting. It's not good, but. I like it."

"You're too kind, my love."

He shrugged and gestured to continue.

I led him to the other wall. "This is a collage Hyunjin and Haseong made. Every time we start at a new school, one of us purposely flunks so we can spend an extra year wherever we've set up camp. It isn't my turn, but I'll probably fail anyway."

"Got a lot on your mind?"

I kissed him quickly. "One thing."

We walked into the kitchen. "This is the kitchen. Haseong does his couponing here."

Haseong snipped an Applebee's twofer deal out of a newspaper and said, "Extreme couponing, son."

"What makes it extreme?" Minho asked, eyeing the stacks of paper.

"I choose to believe it's the attitude with which a person does it."

"Um. Inspiring."

Chan came in the back door and shimmied out of his rain coat. "I think the marmots are back in the chimney, Ha— oh, hi, boys."

"Carry on," I said, pulling Minho's hand, "we're just doing a house tour."

"Ooh, house tour! We'll come with you." Chan led the way, arms extended. "This here, Minho, is the staircase. You can walk up it, down it, whatever tickles your tonsils."

"Chan, you can not talk, if you want," I said.

"Nonsense." He hopped up the stairs. Haseong, Minho and I followed. "This is our room. Here's my side" — Chan pointed at the claustrophobic, paper-littered side, and then at the just-as-overcrowded-but-slightly-more-orderly side — "and that's Haseong's."