Chapter Text
The bang of a door resounded in Sehun’s head like a gong. He snapped out of the dreamlike state he’d been in, heavy breathing calming as he slipped out of his coat and shoes as routinely as he’d closed his apartment door behind him. His eyes were suddenly dry, the tightness in his throat that he’d been fighting all the way home gone.
He soon found himself on the sofa, a beer in his hand, trying to wrap his head around the situation. Shrieking laughter from the TV distracted him for a moment. When had he turned that on? He took the remote and pressed the off-button. He tried thinking again, but the deafening silence left room for the slam of a door to reappear in his mind, repeating over and over until the noise became unbearable. The tightness in his throat and chest reemerged, and he quickly turned the TV back on.
He wasn’t sure how he’d held back the tears after the door to his boss’s office had slammed shut behind him. His coworkers had probably been able to tell Sehun wasn’t well, but none of them had said anything; at least not to him. It seemed comical that something so difficult to acquire could be so easy to lose. And in the end, he had himself to blame. His idea had been good, he knew it, and yet he also should have known not to contradict the department manager in front of the higher-ups, no matter how well the presentation had gone. He didn’t have any right to feel wronged.
But now what? His debts had been weighing heavily on his mind as it was, so they would most likely crush him sooner or later now. He still hadn’t paid off the repairs on the fridge, let alone the rent for the past couple of months, even after having sold his car.
His practical side went through the motions of looking for a solution, fully aware there was none. Contacting his family was out of the question — the few of them who’d supported him leaving for a job in the city were already disappointed in his salary, the rest never missed a chance to tell him “I told you so.” And that was with a job.
He couldn’t afford to accept anything that paid less either, not with the landlord breathing down his neck; and seeing how the last chapter on his resume had been closed, he was even less likely to find something higher-paying than before. He didn’t have a partner, nor any friends he could count on. The only people around him were his coworkers, and their conversations scarcely left the safe field of work. Sehun had seen how they looked at the ones who’d been let go in the past, how they stayed away from them as though they were carrying a disease. He didn’t want to be looked at like that. The one person he considered his friend was Junmyeon, a manager at a rival company whom he’d met at a banquet, but they were nowhere near close enough for Sehun to be asking for money.
His world was coming to an end. There was no way around the reality that he had failed, at his task, at his work, at life. Where would — where could he go from here? Even asking was pointless. There was no one, nothing, nowhere.
Sehun noticed he had his arms wrapped around himself, his fingers digging into his own shoulders. He released his grip on one side to take another swig from the bottle.
It wasn’t like it had been his dream job. Quite the contrary, in fact. He had never considered himself happy, but at least he hadn’t been unhappy either. It had been steady, stable. He barely remembered a time before November 16, 1978, the day he’d started working at the company. With a dash of morbid humor, he realized the sixth anniversary of that date would have been only a week away. Something dark and smothering rose in his chest, his heart pounding against it, his throat constricting once more.
The ring of the phone next to the sofa made him flinch, and he picked up reflexively. Only while he was placing the receiver at his ear did it occur to him that it might be his boss or someone else from the company. The possibility left him tense and tongue-tied for a moment.
“Hello?”
Sehun sighed, somewhere between relieved and disappointed. “Junmyeon, hello.”
“Ah, you’re there.” As usual, Junmyeon managed to sound both cordial and stressed at the same time. “Listen, Sehun, I was wondering if you’d like to go to the circus with me.”
It took Sehun’s numb mind a few moments to register Junmyeon’s words. “What?” he eventually asked.
“I apologize, was that too sudden? I didn’t mean to blindside you, everything just ended up being a last-minute thing… There’s this circus company that’s traveling around the country, and they’re in Busan at the moment. I was going to go there with a friend of mine, but he canceled just this morning, so I’m looking for someone to come with me instead. Would you be interested? The performance starts at eight.”
On any other day, Sehun might have laughed at the absurdity. But then, it was only so absurd because it was precisely this day. On any other day, he also would have likely rejected the invitation — his schedule permitted little room for anything besides the mandatory company outings. He couldn’t even recall the last time he’d been to the movies, let alone the theater, and circus acts were something he’d only ever seen on TV, most of them in cartoon form.
Meanwhile, Junmyeon was still babbling away, perhaps flustered by Sehun’s lack of response. “Naturally, the ticket won’t cost you a won. It’s said to be quite a spectacle too. I’ve never seen them perform, but my friend has, and he said it was absolutely amazing. I understand if you can’t make it, of course, as I said, it’s quite short notice, and—”
“All right,” said Sehun.
“Did you say all right?” The strain was lifted off of Junmyeon’s voice, making way for a more hopeful tone. “As in, you’ll come along?”
Sehun’s world was ending anyway. Why not do his only friend a favor? Why not forget about the cavernous abyss of emptiness that was spread out before him, even if it was just for a night?
“Of course. Why not?”
The winter city rushed past Sehun, a gray blur. He had taken a taxi because squandering what little money he had could hardly make things worse at this point. There was nothing left to lose.
They passed a fenced area that looked like a garbage dump. It also seemed to be home to many a homeless person, as he spotted several sitting and shuffling around the place. A vague, hollow dread arose in him, and he turned his gaze away.
About half an hour later, the taxi stopped. It wasn’t a place Sehun was familiar with, a little outside town and mostly consisting of planes of grass, but there was no mistaking they’d come to the right spot. Even from the parking lot, he could see the glittering billboard, the fairy lights that stretched around the place, and the massive tent.
There was no distinct path on the large meadow, so he began to walk straight toward the tent. A call of his name made him pause and turn around.
“Sehun, you came!”
A beaming Junmyeon was striding toward him from the parking lot, where he’d presumably been waiting, hair slicked back and clad in an elegant coat that he hadn’t closed, which revealed a snowy white dress shirt, perfectly ironed as always. He greeted Sehun with a firm handshake.
“I apologize, I didn’t see you,” said Sehun, but Junmyeon shook his head.
“I’m so happy you made it. Going alone would have been rather dull, so thank you.”
For the first time since he had returned from work, Sehun felt his lips make an effort to form a smile.
They continued walking across the grass together. The closer they got, the more Sehun discovered. A stone’s throw from the huge tent that had immediately caught his eye, there was something that looked like an ice cream truck but instead sold tickets along with candy, popcorn, drinks, and colorful plastic toys, even tiny figurines of clowns and circus tents. There were a lot more people than it had first seemed, crowding around the tent entrance and the ticket trailer. The sweet smell of popcorn filled the air, together with lively chatter and laughter and the squeals of children. The fairy lights, some of them blinking in multiple colors, gave the place an unearthly shimmer. The lights stopped at the big tent, but Sehun saw the outlines of what looked to be more trailers in the shadows behind it. He found himself strangely comforted by the odd, whimsical surroundings. There was an inexplicable allure emanating from the tent in the center of it all.
They passed the billboard he had spotted earlier, itself covered in blinking lights. It read Diamond Star Circus, the letters drawn within a shooting star, starting small at the tail end and growing steadily larger until they reached the front, where a diamond replaced the star.
“Do you want a snack?” asked Junmyeon, gesturing toward the ticket trailer.
Realizing he had skipped both lunch and dinner, Sehun nodded. His stomach did feel faint. “I’ll get us something,” he said, but Junmyeon scoffed.
“Nonsense. You came all the way out here to accompany me, naturally it’s my treat.”
And so Sehun watched as Junmyeon bought two tteokbokki sticks and a medium bag of popcorn from the man behind the clunky iron cash register. The man was dressed in an elegant, red tailcoat with a golden trim and a top hat and looked like he had too much work to do for one person. It was a sentiment Sehun could relate to.
“I’ve never been to a circus before,” he told Junmyeon as they continued on their way, nibbling at their tteokbokki. “To be honest, I didn’t know we had them here.”
“They are a lot more common overseas,” said Junmyeon. “I heard the founder of this circus isn’t Korean either — I think he’s Chinese. It’s certainly a market niche, and it seems to be working quite well for them.”
Sehun surveyed the masses of people bustling around the place. “It does.”
Once they’d finished eating everything but the popcorn, they proceeded toward the entrance. The tent had appeared large before, but standing directly in front of it, Sehun couldn’t help marveling once more at its size. Two young people, a girl and a boy, flanked the entry and checked the tickets of each person going in.
“Welcome to the Diamond Star Circus,” said the boy as he made a tear into Sehun’s ticket. He spoke quickly, probably owing to either stress or nervousness. The girl on the other side, who took care of Junmyeon’s ticket, echoed him. “Thank you for coming, and please enjoy our show.”
The moment Sehun entered the tent, something arose in his stomach and spread into his body, warm and tingly. It was as though he’d just entered a different world, the atmosphere so thick it was like walking into a wall made out of the cotton candy they sold outside. The strange feelings the place had evoked in him became fully realized as he stepped through the passageway and looked around, at the tiered seating, as red as the mysterious curtains behind the round stage in the center, the high ceiling, held up by poles, and the chandelier hanging down from the middle, immersing all of it in golden light. It was hard to imagine that a cold, square, gray office like the one his boss had yelled at him in could exist in the same world as a place like this.
A nudge in the back made him aware he’d been standing in the same spot, blocking the way. He hastily turned to follow Junmyeon to the front of a section close to the entrance, where they took their seats.
“Really, front row?” Sehun patted the velvety cushion. “Amazing.”
Junmyeon laughed. “Of course! We want to enjoy the show properly, after all.”
It was warm enough inside to take off his coat, so Sehun hung it over the backrest. They were presumably in some kind of VIP area, for the chairs further back weren’t made of wood and velvet, but of plastic. Leaning back in his seat, he found it a lot more comfortable than his office chair.
“I just realized I haven’t asked you how you’re doing at all,” said Junmyeon. “How is work? How is life?”
Horrible. Over. “Fine. How about you?”
Sehun stuffed his mouth full of popcorn to lessen the risk of potential further inquiry.
“Nothing new, really,” said Junmyeon, although he didn’t seem entirely satisfied with Sehun’s reply. “The children are doing well in kindergarten, and my wife is happy to have some time to herself in the mornings. Oh, and I’ve been trying to help a good friend of mine find an apartment, but it’s practically impossible to get something affordable. Do you happen to know of a place?”
Sehun shook his head. If he knew of anywhere affordable, he’d be living there himself. “Unfortunately not, but I’ll let you know if I hear anything.”
“Much obliged. I have his business card, in case you want it so you can talk to him directly.”
“Of course.”
Sehun tucked the card away, into the company of any other business cards he had politely accepted and left to decompose in the inside pocket of his coat.
The tent was still filling with people, until he could barely find any spots of red where there was a free seat anymore. There were hundreds, perhaps even thousands who had come to see this show. It seemed to be quite the special event. The numbness that had borne him down earlier had cleared slightly, still laced with that odd, tingling sensation. There was tension buzzing in the air, and it was impossible not to get affected by it.
Junmyeon was in the middle of an anecdote about his wife picking the children up from kindergarten when a swift movement by the entrance caught Sehun’s eye, and he spotted the girl who had torn Junmyeon’s ticket hastening up the stairs by the back rows. She vanished into a canvas cubicle positioned on a raised platform right across from the stage on the other end of the tent.
All at once, he was blinded by a beam of light and quickly averted his eyes, only to see that the tent had become dark except for one single spotlight pointing at the middle of the curtains.
Junmyeon fell silent, along with the rest of the audience; the few whispers and giggles sounding here and there were soon drowned out by a drum roll that started faint and grew steadily louder. Then it exploded in a tinny bang, and the curtains opened.
A man stepped onto the stage — Sehun instantly recognized the red-and-gold tailcoat and top hat. In one of his gloved hands, the man held some kind of cane; in the other was a microphone, which he now raised to his mouth.
“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls,” he called out, his voice resonating bright and clear in the tent, “good evening! My name is Kim Jonghyun, and it is a great honor for me to be your ringmaster tonight and welcome each and every one of you to our very own Diamond Star Circus!”
The audience clapped, a few people whistled. Kim Jonghyun waited until it had quieted down before he continued, his tone low and mysterious.
“Most of you won’t know what’s in store for you tonight. Suffice it to say that behind these curtains, some of the most skilled, special, and spectacular performers in this day and age are waiting, top-tier artists from different parts of the world, burning to entertain you.”
Sehun felt Junmyeon seeking eye contact and returned his excited smile with a polite one of his own. He secretly thought that this man was exaggerating quite shamelessly.
“There are no words that can adequately describe what you are about to witness, nor prepare you for it, and so I shall leave it at that. Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls — it’s showtime!”
Many things happened at once: the lighting flashed, jaunty music flared up, the curtains were yanked open, and two women came skipping elegantly onto the stage, each pushing a big, glittery block on wheels into the middle, where they fixed it a few feet apart from the other. Sehun’s cheeks were warm, owing to the skimpy nature of the women’s bodices and skirts, which were just as glitzy as the boxes they had brought in. One of the women wore pink, the other tangerine, while the delicate patterns drawn on their faces were the color of the other’s dress. He wasn’t sure if they were wearing tights or not, but their legs glittered too. Kim Jonghyun’s voice rang through the vivacious brass and trumpets.
“Please give a big round of applause for Bae Joohyun and Kang Seulgi, who will start the evening with their jaw-dropping contortion act!”
Just when Sehun wondered how jaw-dropping some gymnastics could really be, the orange woman with bangs effortlessly grabbed and tossed into the air the pink woman, who landed in splits with one foot on each of the boxes. Sehun’s jaw dropped and a gasp escaped him. He could barely bring himself to close his mouth again as the splits grew lower and lower, until the woman’s legs were bent upward in a pose that looked like it should be physically impossible. A wave of applause erupted. Not to be outdone, the orange woman arched backward, far enough for her to give a charming, right-side-up smile and a wave through her own legs, earning herself another round of applause.
The two continued bending backward and forward into the most far-fetched positions for another while, seemingly competing with each other in absurdity. One sometimes took it upon herself to do the bending on the other, who let it happen as though she were a doll. Eventually, they each stood on one box in a handstand, back to back, slowly tilting toward each other until their feet touched, and ended the act by forming a heart with their legs.
The audience gave thunderous applause, and Junmyeon let out the loudest and highest noise Sehun had ever heard from him. He himself clapped so hard his hands were growing sore, despite worrying he couldn’t keep this up throughout the night. But surely, nothing could top this first act, so perhaps he wouldn’t have to.
The next performer, a short-haired man clad in a black suit with silver highlights who was introduced as Do Kyungsoo, was a knife thrower. The orange woman, Kang Seulgi, stayed behind and stood in front of a wooden board that had replaced the glittering boxes between acts. Sehun asked himself what she was doing. Then Do Kyungsoo held up a knife and threw it right at her.
A highly undignified squeak escaped Sehun, but the knife hit the wood mere inches away from her ear. Unlike Sehun, she hadn’t flinched.
Another knife whizzed through the air, spinning a few times before sticking in the wood on the other side of her head. Several more followed, until every bit of the wood board that had no Kang Seulgi blocking it was covered in blinking, silver knives. After the applause had calmed down, she left the board and instead strapped herself in on a spinning wheel big enough to accommodate even a person taller than her and of which Sehun had no idea when or how it had been brought on stage.
“Attention, please!” exclaimed Kim Jonghyun, emerging from behind the wheel. “Do Kyungsoo will now attempt a no-spin throw. Despite appearances, this kind of throw is much more complicated and much less accurate than a spin throw would be. I shall, however, make up for the lack of spinning.”
He gave the wheel a good push, setting it into motion. Still, Kang Seulgi looked as cool as ice.
“All eyes on the performers,” said Kim Jonghyun, a highly unnecessary reminder in Sehun’s opinion. His eyes were glued there.
To the rising sound of a drum roll, Do Kyungsoo lifted his hand, the knife in it glinting in the spotlight. He threw.
A gasp ran through the audience, and Kang Seulgi jumped off the spinning wheel with a bright smile, ducking under the knife that was stuck in the wood just above where her head had been. Do Kyungsoo took her hand, and they received the shouts and applause with a joint bow before leaving the stage.
Suddenly, someone came scurrying through the walkway leading in from the entrance. He hopped over the curb and onto the stage without hesitation, which was impressive considering he held a toast in one hand and a butter knife in the other. Sehun figured out what this man’s role was right away — his rainbow-colored hair, oversize clothes, and heavy, white makeup together with the red ball he wore for a nose made it an easy guess.
He pointed at the knife-covered board with his own butter knife and shrugged his shoulders with a mildly impressed expression. He imitated Do Kyungsoo’s throwing motion, eliciting some giggles in the audience. Even Sehun couldn’t help smiling as the clown made several attempts but couldn’t seem to part with his knife in the end, since he was still buttering his toast. He instead proceeded to have a go at contortion: he bent backward slightly, then flinched and clutched his waist with a pained grimace, the toast dropping to the floor.
He had just picked it up and was in the middle of lamenting the sawdust stuck on it when the curtains opened again.
“Hey, you! What are you doing here?” asked Kim Jonghyun, who hurried onto the stage. He wrinkled his nose as the clown held out a hand, offering him the grimy toast. “Uh, no, thanks.”
The following couple of minutes were spent with the clown wordlessly trying to convince Kim Jonghyun not to kick him out and instead let him join the circus, showing off various talents such as miming and butter knife throwing without actually throwing the knife. When all of it failed to impress Kim Jonghyun, the clown appeared to have a new idea, for his face brightened and he gestured to his open mouth.
“You want to sing?” asked Kim Jonghyun, and the clown nodded eagerly. “I’m sorry, but perhaps it would be better if you just— hey!”
The clown tried to grab the microphone, but Kim Jonghyun held it far away, threatening him with the cane. The clown then grabbed the cane instead, the surprise effect allowing him to snatch it away, and stuck his red nose on top of it, creating a makeshift microphone. Music started playing, and the following lip-sync rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody had Sehun giggling like a little child. The children in the audience certainly adored the performance, squealing and laughing loud enough to be heard over the music.
Just as the clown finished with a dramatic pose, two swing-like objects fell and dangled from the ceiling, causing him to stumble over himself and drop his toast for good. The curtains opened, and the two women from the opening act came striding in.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome back our lovely Bae Joohyun and Kang Seulgi for their terrific trapeze act!” shouted Kim Jonghyun and yanked his cane back from the clown, the nose falling off in the process. The clown didn’t notice because he was smitten by the women’s beauty, judging from his goggle-eyed stare.
In the end, Kim Jonghyun allowed him to sit at the back and watch the performance if he stayed quiet and promised to leave afterwards.
The two women were equally as dizzying on the trapeze as they had been on the ground, accompanied by flashy lighting and graceful music. The trapezes stayed still at first, allowing Bae Joohyun and Kang Seulgi to show off each elegant pose for a few seconds. After a while, they began swinging back and forth, sometimes even letting go of the bar for a moment as they made a turn, Sehun’s heart skipping a beat every time. The tension was palpable and only resolved with a collective sigh and strong applause when their feet touched the ground again.
The clown clapped too, in between futile attempts to tame his tousled hair, which consisted of spitting into his hands and running them through it. He patted his jacket as if looking for something and eventually pulled out a comically large pencil and another clown’s nose. He stuck the nose on top of the pencil and scurried toward the ladies, who were about to leave, presenting the pencil to them as though it were a flower.
Before they could react in any way, the curtains were pulled open and three tall men came waltzing in, all of them in red, sleeveless shirts that showed off their toned biceps. The lights turned red too, and the music that set in with their entrance was an unmelodic, heavy drum chorus, occasionally interrupted by an ominous-sounding flute. The bass made Sehun vibrate in his seat.
Two of the men beckoned Bae Joohyun and Kang Seulgi to pass through the curtains with a polite bow. The third one, the tallest of the three, towered over the clown, who stood frozen in place with an exaggerated expression of terror on his face. The man raised his hands; Sehun didn’t see what he did, but all of a sudden, the pencil the clown was holding lit on fire. Sehun flinched, and the clown shrieked, threw the pencil high into the air, and ran after the women for dear life, his fear not seeming so exaggerated now.
The man lifted his arm and caught the flaming pencil with his bare hand, somehow managing not to burn himself. The other two approached him, not without waving and bowing to the audience first — one of them even blew kisses and winked — and pulled a few objects from their back pockets. Some looked like torches, others were harder to identify, especially after the tallest man had lit them all on fire with the burning pencil.
“Let me introduce you,” sounded Kim Jonghyun’s voice, “to our Flaming Trio: Choi Minho, Park Chanyeol, and Huang Zitao. I won’t dare to step into the ring while they’re here. Their daredevil act with fire has to be seen to be believed — so see for yourselves, and watch out!”
The three had finished preparations by now. Two of them juggled flaming, double-sided torches between two sticks, whereas the sticks of the one who’d blown kisses were connected with a string; he let three burning, yo-yo-like objects roll from one end of the string to the other, sometimes throwing them high into the air, only to catch them again. Sehun could feel the heat on his skin. He wondered if any of the children in the audience were intimidated; he definitely was. At the same time, he couldn’t take his eyes off the shapeless bundles of fire flying around above his head, hypnotized.
After a while, the tallest man suddenly grabbed one of the torches out of the air and covered the flames with his hand. There were gasps from the audience, and Sehun leaned forward in his chair, unsure if he’d seen right. The man looked as though he’d just swatted an annoying mosquito rather than extinguished a burning torch with his bare hand.
But he repeated the action, once, twice, and Sehun knew his eyes hadn’t deceived him now. He shuddered at the thought. He was about to whisper to Junmyeon to ask his opinion when the man grabbed another torch and put it in his mouth.
The words got stuck in Sehun’s throat, only a gurgle came through. Someone screamed.
The man withdrew the extinguished torch and raised it into the air with a proud, beaming smile on his face. The audience erupted into cheers, and Sehun loosened his collar.
The red and orange spotlights focused back on the other two, who continued to show off tricks with their tools, but Sehun was distracted by the tallest man — it looked like he was preparing something in the back. And indeed, shortly after, he came to the front of the ring, close enough that Sehun could see the sheen of sweat on his face and the determined gleam in his big eyes. Then the lights went out, and a burst of flames blazed out of the dark, from the man’s mouth.
Sehun barely heard Kim Jonghyun’s announcement of an intermission over the following uproar.
“Oh dear, that last bit was a lot to take in,” said Junmyeon as they were walking around outside. He was fanning himself with a circus flyer he had picked up somewhere.
“You can say that again,” muttered Sehun. He wasn’t sure what to think of that act; it had certainly been intense.
“Maybe I’ll choose seats a bit further back next time after all.”
After about fifteen minutes, they returned to their first-row VIP seats, and Sehun grabbed the half-finished bag of popcorn from the floor. He only managed to eat a handful more before the lights were reduced to a single spotlight and the curtains opened once again.
One of the fire performers who’d used the separate sticks walked into the ring. There were several delighted squeals in the audience as he gripped the front of his shirt and ripped it apart, revealing bulky muscles that glistened in the spotlight. Sehun felt the urge to avert his eyes, as though he was watching something he shouldn’t be — especially with how the performer was flexing his biceps and abdominals.
Another man slipped through the curtains, wearing a black tuxedo with a cape, and even with his top hat he looked small next to the fire man. He had a long, wooden stick in each hand, and on one of them was some kind of plate, spinning rapidly; he easily passed it over to the stick on the other side, then back, this time making it jump in the air. Sehun was so immersed in its quick, unpredictable dance that he only noticed the fire man when he grabbed one of the sticks and bent it in half until it snapped.
The man in the tuxedo seemed but mildly perturbed, continuing to spin the plate on the stick he had left. However, the fire man approached him again and yanked it from his grip too. The plate flew into the air, and Sehun already saw it shatter on the ground — but the tuxedo man caught it nonchalantly.
Muscles flexing under the strain, the fire man broke the second stick as well, tossed it to the ground where the first one lay already, and marched off stage with a triumphant swagger.
The tuxedo man shook his head, still rather calm. He took off his top hat, put the plate inside and the hat back on his head as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Sehun thought he might have blinked and missed something. The man picked up the remnants of one of the sticks and held the broken ends together, mumbling to himself and brushing a hand over them, and then he held one whole stick into the air. Whispers in the audience accompanied the applause. The man repeated his actions with the other stick and even smacked both of them together, showing off how sturdy they were.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” said Kim Jonghyun, who had reappeared in the ring, “we very proudly present the mystifying magic of Lee Jinki!”
Tinkling music began to play, whimsical and mysterious, as Lee Jinki laid aside the sticks and took off his hat, which he placed upside down on a small table that had just been pushed through the curtains. He reached inside the hat, and Sehun expected to see the plate in his hand; instead, he was suddenly holding a white bunny. Coos and giggles were heard throughout the tent. Lee Jinki acted surprised himself but proceeded to pet the bunny and gently place it on the table. He put his hand into the hat once more, and this time he pulled out the plate.
“Excuse me,” interrupted Kim Jonghyun, gesturing toward the hat. “That looked absolutely fantastical — so much so that I’m worried many people here may not believe it’s real. They might think it’s a trick.”
Lee Jinki looked into the audience and nodded thoughtfully. He took the hat into his hands before approaching the outskirts of the ring, his eyes scanning the rows of people.
“Ah, it seems we need a volunteer!” commented Kim Jonghyun. “Is there a brave soul willing to put our magician to the test? Perhaps… yes, this fine gentleman over there?”
Lee Jinki’s gaze had skimmed over Sehun and lingered to his right, and all of a sudden he was holding his hat out to Junmyeon, who stared back like a rabbit caught in the headlights. Sehun squinted against the spotlight that was now pointed at them to better watch Junmyeon take the hat with shaky hands and carefully inspect it. Eventually, he handed it back.
“What do you say, sir?” asked Kim Jonghyun. “Is it a normal hat?”
Junmyeon nodded emphatically. Lee Jinki flashed him a big smile as he reached into the hat for a third time and produced another bunny. It was so close that Sehun could see the small, brown spot on its head amid the otherwise snowy white fur, the twitch of its little nose, even its trembling whiskers.
Junmyeon gasped, and Lee Jinki bowed to the cheers and returned to the table, where he set down the second bunny beside the first. He took the plate, shook it, and then he was holding a handkerchief instead, which he used to dab at his forehead. A side glance showed Sehun that Junmyeon hadn’t yet digested what had happened. In comparison, the bunnies had looked quite calm.
For the finale of his act, Lee Jinki let Kim Jonghyun tie him up using a straitjacket and leather straps. It took less than a minute until the restraints slid to the ground like an oversize jacket and Lee Jinki waved his freed arms with a beaming grin.
After he had left the ring, the lights went out for a while, and Sehun heard shuffling and creaking. His heart was beginning to flutter as he wondered what could be next.
Kim Jonghyun’s voice echoed through the tent.
“Presenting now: our lovely Wendy and Peter Pan, who are ready to take you to the faraway country of Neverland!”
A few children shrieked, and the glissandi of harps and chimes set in. Slowly, the ring lit up in dusky orange and purple hues to reveal a ladder leading up at least ten feet to a platform, from where a rope was strung to another platform, covered in a black velvet blanket, at the other end of the stage. On the first platform was a painted background depicting a room with a light blue bed and toys scattered all around; in front of it stood a woman, presumably Wendy. She was wearing a frilly, blue dress with lace and had a bow in her light, curly hair.
Then Sehun noticed there was a man floating in mid-air, clad in a costume that seemed to be made of leaves. He pretended to play the pan flute he held in one hand, in time with the appearances the instrument made in the musical accompaniment. With the other hand, he was beckoning.
Wendy stepped to the edge of the platform, and Sehun got dizzy just thinking about standing there. Peter Pan reached into his pocket and threw something in the air — fine, glittering dust that landed on Wendy and apparently encouraged her to take the first step onto the rope. Sehun could barely watch as she made her way across, shaky and slow at first and nearly falling at points, which caused Sehun’s heart rate to double each time. She grew more and more confident the farther she got, until she was performing poses and skips in between steps, so effortlessly that the initial wobbliness had to have been intentional.
The spotlight moved with her, leaving the bedroom in shadows. After an eternity, she reached the other side. At that moment, Peter Pan pulled away the velvet blanket, revealing a second platform that had a background showing a beautiful island filled with mountains, forests, mermaids, and fairies.
“Wow, Mommy, Neverland!” a child screamed from somewhere, and a few people chuckled. Peter Pan grinned too as he stepped onto the platform and welcomed Wendy on it with a hand kiss. Sehun vaguely thought he looked familiar. The lights went out.
Another good minute of darkness later, the next act was announced, “From China, the one and only Huang Zitao and his trusty swords!”
The man who entered the empty ring to flashy lights was wearing a red martial arts uniform imprinted with golden dragons and held together by a black belt; Sehun recognized him as the fire performer who had blown kisses. The makeup now painting his prominent eyes gave him the look of a ferocious tiger. He held a glistening sword in each hand, and before long, he was twirling them around so fast they became a blur. Then he followed suit, jumping, rolling, kicking, and contorting from one position into the next, accompanied by heavy drums and a wistful-sounding string instrument.
Eventually, he placed several bricks on the ground, leaving enough space in between them that he could lay a wooden board on every two. On the last pair, he put a brick slab. Sehun’s eyes grew continuously wider as Huang Zitao proceeded to break each of the boards with apparent ease, first with his foot, then with his hand. When he got to the slab, Sehun held his breath.
Huang Zitao brought down his fist with a shout and no hesitation. The stone broke as easily as the wood had, and the crowd rewarded him with cheers and clapping.
The curtains opened to let Huang Zitao walk out and Kim Jonghyun enter the ring instead.
“And so we have arrived at tonight’s final act,” he announced.
It startled Sehun for a moment. Of course, he thought. Of course this wouldn’t go on forever. Something existed outside of this world, and he would have to return to it eventually. There was no way around it, no way out.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” said Kim Jonghyun, and Sehun shook his head to get rid of those thoughts while he still could, even if it was only temporary. “For a worthy finale, here are the amazing Lee Taemin and Kim Jongin on the aerial silks!”
There were a few moments of darkness. Gradually, a dim light grew in the ring, catching in the glittery texture of the long silk bands hanging from the ceiling, one black, one white. As softly as the lighting, music set in, a slow, lyrical waltz. Two men were kneeling in front of the silks.
Two spotlights lit up, each pointed at one of the men, who simultaneously raised their heads. They were blindfolded with scarves the color of the silk behind them; their costumes and makeup, artistic patterns covering their faces, matched as well. Their hair was long, falling onto their almost bare shoulders. Both of them rose to their feet, and although their motions were fluid, Sehun felt like they followed the beat of the music. His face heated up again at the sight of men in bodices and tights, which wasn’t something he saw every day. In fact, he had never seen anything like this, the lines of their bodies long and graceful, strength and elegance combined in the way they gripped the silks and moved upward, pursued by the spotlights like stars rising in the sky.
There was no sound aside from the music, and the ease of their climb made Sehun think he was watching them move through water. They began wrapping the silks around their hands and feet to dwell in gracious poses, the music growing into something majestic and sweeping. Then they fell.
Sehun gasped. However, they didn’t crash to the ground; they landed in mid-air, back arched and legs outstretched, wrapped securely in the silks. Breathing back out, Sehun sank into his chair and watched with mouth agape as the two men repeated the act, climbing farther up and folding the silks around themselves, only to drop back down together with a swoop of music as well as Sehun’s stomach. They alternated between synchronized movements and individual routine, and in either scenario, it was hard to decide where to look. Sehun asked himself if they could see anything through the blindfolds.
A drum roll made him perk up. The two men climbed upward at a swift pace until they were nearly at the top, where they wrapped themselves up in the silks in a manner that was so practiced it looked arbitrary.
They dropped without warning, and Sehun half rose in his seat, certain they had made a mistake this time — they stopped, inches above the ground, arms and legs spread outward, as gracefully as they had started.
The audience’s cheers and applause exploded around the tent once more, and although Sehun could hardly feel his hands anymore, he clapped with no less enthusiasm than for any of the other acts. The two men slipped down from the silks and onto their feet, ripped off their blindfolds, and bowed with radiant smiles. Like all the other performers, they were quite beautiful.
“Lee Taemin and Kim Jongin, everybody!” called Kim Jonghyun, striding into the ring. “Bravo! And bravo to everyone else, including our artists, our staff, and, of course, our wonderful audience. I think I speak for all of us when I say it was an immense pleasure performing for you tonight.”
At these words, the curtains opened and everyone who had stepped foot into the ring that night came walking, running, and jumping out, waving or blowing kisses to the audience. Only the clown was missing.
“We are sad to part with you tonight. Unfortunately, this was our final performance in Busan — but only for this season. We’ll surely come by next year, so don’t miss it. Your friends and family are just as welcome, please bring everyone along! Thank you very much, and we’ll see you soon!”
There was one more individual curtain call for each performer to a fast, lively tune. Then the last person exited the ring, the music died away, and, one final time, the curtains closed.
Sehun left the remaining popcorn at their seats. It seemed to have become even darker outside, but perhaps that was because of the contrast to the bright spotlights. His heart was heavy. He didn’t want to go back. Back home, back to life; there was none anyway.
“Oh my goodness, I thought my heart was going to stop when that man picked me out of the crowd,” sputtered Junmyeon while they were walking toward the parking lot. “It was a bit scary too, the way he conjured that rabbit out of the hat.”
“You think he actually conjured it up?”
“I don’t know, but I did check the hat — it was a perfectly ordinary hat! Nothing special or odd about it at all.”
Sehun shrugged. “I’m sure they have their tricks, stage magicians like that. It’s all illusions anyway.”
“I suppose so. But I do wonder where that bunny came from…”
Sehun nodded absently. In his mind, he was still in the tent, watching in awe as magic, real or not, was made before his very eyes.
“I must say,” Junmyeon went on, “the highlight for me was that trapeze act. Absolutely stunning. What do you think?”
The whole performance was a blur of heart-stopping showmanship in Sehun’s head; he had a hard time separating the individual acts. “Maybe the aerial silks. Or the magician.”
A suffering noise escaped Junmyeon. “Please don’t mention him anymore.”
“My apologies.”
Pondering over the numbers in the show, Sehun thought how well attuned every single performer had been to the others, how they had worked together, formed a unit. The tingling sensation from earlier, still lingering in his chest, was joined by a gentle but painful tug, as if trying to steer him into the opposite direction he was walking in. It had to be great to be part of an actual team. The team he was — had been, rather — working with at the office was a barely functioning set of one-track minded pawns to their tyrant boss whose highest priority was their own promotion. Sehun wondered if he was even capable of teamwork himself or if he was already permanently wired to follow in his ex-colleagues’ footsteps.
Suddenly, he remembered the clown’s act and how he had desperately shown off his various talents to the ringmaster. Sehun would look about as pathetic if he tried to apply for a new position now, after getting fired from his previous job. In his mind’s eye, he saw himself in the clown’s shoes and almost laughed. Then, a mad idea popped into his head.
“Do you need a ride?”
Sehun looked around and realized they had arrived at the parking lot. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “There’s a phone booth over there, I’ll just call a taxi again.”
“Are you sure?”
He nodded, and Junmyeon relented. “All right, I’ll get going, then. Thank you so much again for coming, Sehun. I had a great time, and I hope you did too.”
“I did.” Sehun shook Junmyeon’s hand, trying to convey his appreciation with the firmness of his grip. “Thank you for tonight.”
Junmyeon smiled in that way which made his eyes scrunch and his teeth sparkle.
Sehun waited until the tail lights of Junmyeon’s car were out of sight before he turned around and walked back toward the circus tent. There was nothing to lose anyway.
Dodging the stream of people that was still flowing out of the tent and toward him, he thought about his strategy. He had to be at least somewhat prepared. He passed the billboard, then the ticket trailer, which was now dark and closed, and finally the huge tent. There had to be another exit, probably hidden behind the curtains. His best bet was to check at the back.
Like earlier, he could see dark, angular outlines behind the tent. The closer he walked, the more clearly he could make out the shapes, and he became certain his initial guess had been correct — there were more trailers, perhaps belonging to the performers. He slowed down involuntarily as he went around the tent, eyes adjusting to the dimmer light.
The first vehicle he walked past was a wagon with the circus name and logo on it. The second one was much the same, except the colors were paler, the paint cracked and peeling in places. The following trailers were of various colors but had no writing on them.
A noise made Sehun turn his head; he instantly whipped it back around, blushing. He had only caught a glimpse of glittering fabric and bare shoulders, but it had been enough. He sped up to escape the faint smacking and moaning. It seemed he was at least on the right track.
Then he saw something up ahead: a gleam of light came from behind a trailer. Having passed this one too, Sehun found there was another tent, a much smaller one, and the light was coming from the entrance. In front of it, three large tables formed a row, benches and chairs placed around them. His steps slowed again but his heartbeat gathered speed as he walked up to the tent. He raised his hand instinctively, realized there was nothing to knock against, and, after a moment of hesitation, ducked his head and entered.
“Excuse me,” he said.
A few crates stood around in the tent, but two tables took up most of the space, on top of them oil lamps, plates, cups, chopsticks as well as several pots and bowls covered with lids and tinfoil. There was a man near the tables. At Sehun’s words, he turned around.
With a start, Sehun recognized who it was. The man was wearing glasses now, but the buzz cut, silvery costume, and piercing stare left no doubt that it was the knife thrower. Out of all the performers in the show, he was probably the one Sehun least wanted to be alone in a tent with.
“Good evening,” he said despite his reservations. “It was a great performance tonight.”
The knife thrower tilted his head. “Who are you and what do you want?”
No niceties, it seemed. “I apologize for the intrusion. My name is Oh Sehun, and I was looking for the director of this circus. Could you perhaps tell me where to find him?”
“What do you want?” the knife thrower asked again.
Sehun took a deep breath. Now that he was here, he had to try. Strangely enough, his heartbeat was back to normal, and as he spoke, it was as though he was watching it happen from the outside, like in a dream or perhaps a movie.
“I wanted to ask whether there are currently any open positions. I was an office assistant at a renowned company for many years and want to offer my services.”
The knife thrower’s head moved back into a central position. “Assistant? That’s interesting. I’ve actually always wanted an assistant. None of the others really likes getting knives thrown at them, so it would be nice to have someone stable for that position, you know?”
“Uh…” Sehun wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that. It was hard to tell whether the man was just speaking casually or whether he was threatening to throw knives at Sehun if he didn’t leave. “Of course.”
A clatter sounded from behind him, and as he turned his head, he saw the magician dragging a large pot through the tent entrance.
“Here’s the water, Kyungs— oh! Hello there. Got a visitor?”
Sehun bowed to him, wondering if he should be relieved at the additional company or not. He wished he had paid more attention to the performers’ names, as the only one he still remembered was the ringmaster’s.
“He asked for the director,” explained the knife thrower, and the magician halted, scanning Sehun attentively. “He’s looking for a job, and I was just saying how I’d like to have an assistant.”
A smile lit up the magician’s face, as bright as it had been on stage, plumping the apples of his cheeks. “Oh, me too! No one ever lets me saw them in half.”
He sighed and nodded at Sehun as if he had just told him of a completely relatable everyday struggle. Sehun nodded back politely, once again unsure if he was being threatened.
There was another ruckus at the entrance, and the Flaming Trio shuffled inside behind the magician. They were even taller than they had seemed on stage, all of them around Sehun’s height. Sehun noticed how big all of their eyes were. The tallest one, who also had rather large ears, almost tripped over the pot the magician had brought with him.
Sehun bowed to them too, somewhat intimidated by their presence. They exuded charisma that wasn’t solely down to their height.
The knife thrower started explaining the situation once more, but he hadn’t gotten far when someone else ducked inside the tent; this time, it was Peter Pan.
“Ya, what kind of secret party is going on in here?” he yelled with a toothy smirk and a curious glint in his eyes, and Sehun was momentarily distracted by the realization that this person hadn’t just played the role of Peter Pan — he had also been the clown.
“Am I gonna have to tell each of you individually?” asked the knife thrower, arms crossed and brow furrowed.
“We don’t know what’s happening either,” said one of the fire performers.
“I can explain this time,” offered the magician helpfully.
“Hey, are we eating in here today?” a voice came from behind the Flaming Trio. The small cluster of people parted, and in stepped one of the aerial silks performers — the one dressed in white. He was tall as well, only slightly shorter than Sehun. His long hair was tied back and his makeup a little smudged around his nose and mouth, and yet there was a certain aura to him too. Sehun wondered if that was part of what it took to be a performer.
The aerialist’s gaze fell upon Sehun, and his eyebrows drew up in surprise.
“What’s going on?” he asked. “Are we getting inspected or something?”
“I think this guy is jobless,” said one of the fire performers.
“Is he okay?” the clown chimed in. “He hasn’t said anything.”
“We’re not really giving him a chance to,” replied the magician before Sehun could say anything. “He wanted to talk to the director because he’s looking for a job, and we were just talking about how Kyungsoo and I would love to have an assistant, and then everyone started coming in and we had to start over again—”
“Hold on, what?” The aerialist looked around with wide, disbelieving eyes. “He came here looking for a job and you’re just messing with him?”
“We weren’t messing with him!” the magician defended himself, sounding hurt. “Why would we do that?”
“You offered him assistant? Are you crazy?”
Sehun was still standing in the same spot. He was oddly fascinated by the lack of formality with which the performers addressed each other and by the close-up sight of men in glittery costumes and heavy makeup. He supposed he should feel confused or even uncomfortable, but his pulse was steady and his mind calm. Nothing was at stake, although, at the same time, everything was.
“Oh my God, what do we do?” The aerialist turned around. “Taemin, can you go get everyone else? I think we’ll need to do this together,” he addressed his partner in black, who was standing right behind him like a shorter, slimmer shadow. Sehun had no idea if he’d been there the whole time or if he’d just entered. As opposed to the one dressed in white, his hair was still loose and quite ruffled as well, and his face was expressionless as he nodded and disappeared into the night.
The aerialist in white turned back to Sehun and took a deep bow. “I’m Kim Jongin,” he said. “I’m so sorry for all of this — no matter what everyone said, none of them meant anything bad by it. I hope we didn’t chase you away and you’ll still give us a chance?”
“Oh… Of course!” Sehun was quick to return the bow, pleasantly surprised by the change in tone. “Pleased to meet you. My name is Oh Sehun.”
Kim Jongin sighed, his posture relaxing a little. “Ah, really now… What a mess. You must want to talk to the person in charge, right?”
Sehun nodded. “Yes, I came in here looking for the circus director.”
“I see, I see. Well, the thing is, we don’t have one at the moment.”
Sehun blinked. “You don’t? There’s no one running this circus?”
More people trickled into the tent, all of them still in costume, all of them listening quietly to the conversation except for one or two whispers.
“That’s right. There used to be, of course, but he quit due to… unexpected circumstances. In fact…” Kim Jongin glanced around, meeting some of the others’ eyes before fixing his gaze on Sehun again. “…we’re looking for a director.”
“Oh.” Sehun nodded once more, his heart sinking. If there was no one in charge, chances of being hired were slim.
Kim Jongin was still staring at him, as if he was waiting for Sehun to say more. He was fidgeting, fingers of one hand tapping the back of the other. Eventually, he spoke again.
“So would you be interested?”
Sehun frowned in confusion. “Interested?”
“In the director’s position?”
He balked, his mouth slightly open. The whole situation still felt as if it were happening to someone else, and he wondered if he was actually dreaming. He was being offered a directing position, and he hadn’t even brought his CV.
“I— certainly,” he said, trying to keep his voice level. “I have many years of work experience at a well-established company, so I’m good at organization and coordination. I also have a degree in business and data analysis. I, uh… unfortunately did not bring a copy of my résumé, but I can do so tomorrow or any of the following days if that is all right?”
A murmur went through the gathering. Kim Jongin’s eyes grew wide, and he shook his head. “Oh no, I don’t think that’s necessary. It sounds great though, your experience and everything. We’re not all that good at organizing ourselves, you know?”
He gave an awkward chuckle. “Anyway, the season will end soon, and after that, we need a new show. And without a director, that would be tough. We’d really be so grateful to have someone for the position.”
Sehun kept nodding, unsure how to handle the situation. He had expected having to sell himself and prove his skills, and instead he had a job virtually thrown at him.
Kim Jongin scanned the people present once more. “All right, looks like everyone is here now,” he said.
Sehun was glad to hear that, as the small tent was reaching the limit of its capacity. Including himself, he counted seventeen people, among which were only two men he didn’t recognize; all of the others he could identify, most of them performers, the remaining two the young people who had checked the tickets at the entrance.
Since some of them asked, Kim Jongin gave another summary of the situation. The eyes surveying Sehun ranged from narrowed in skepticism to sparkling with delight.
“Isn’t that kind of a crazy idea though?” one member of the Flaming Trio asked. His gaze belonged to the more reluctant group. “We don’t even know this guy.”
“I didn’t say it’s not crazy,” said Kim Jongin defensively, “but the season is almost over and we’re still missing a director. You know we won’t hear from the last two candidates again. He’s our best shot.”
“But there’s no time! We’re leaving Busan tomorrow.”
“We’ll just have to decide now.”
The fire performer scoffed. “What, you wanna take him along tomorrow? No way we’re doing that.”
“I don’t remember us electing you the new director, Choi Minho,” one of the two men Sehun didn’t recognize said dryly. He had delicate but sharp features and a gap in his right eyebrow.
“It is really sudden though,” said the tallest of the Flaming Trio while Choi Minho and the other man began a heated debate. “And he’s okay with it?”
Sehun shrugged and looked at Kim Jongin. “I don’t mind starting right away. But you’re leaving tomorrow?”
“Yeah.” Kim Jongin was chewing on his lip with a worried frown. He had to raise his voice to overpower the ongoing discussion, which had spread to several others at this point. “We’re on tour, so we change locations quite frequently. It would probably be the most convenient if you just came with us tomorrow, since we’re only gonna keep going farther and farther away from Busan. We’re heading west and then up north. But if tomorrow is too soon, we can also—”
“No.” Sehun’s mind was racing to figure out every organizational aspect he would have to cover before a potential departure. “No, it should be fine. Do you live in those trailers?”
“Yes!” confirmed Kim Jongin eagerly over the commotion. “You won’t have to worry about food or housing, you’ll get your own trailer and everything.”
“ALL RIGHT!” the tallest fire performer roared, his deep voice resonating so loudly Sehun was sure the tent shook, and everybody fell silent. “We’re voting on it. Everyone have an opinion?”
There were some murmurs and meaningful glances exchanged. Eventually, they turned into nods and affirmations.
“Fine,” said the ringmaster, Kim Jonghyun. It could have been the tone of his voice, his dark eyebrows, or the fact that he was still holding the cane he’d carried in the ring, but there was an unmissable authority about him. “Let’s do it. Everybody against, raise your hand.”
At those words, Sehun’s heartbeat finally picked up again. He looked around as several hands went up: Choi Minho, the kung fu fire performer, and the trapeze ladies.
“Four votes. Okay, everyone in favor?”
Sehun held his breath. He watched Kim Jongin raise his hand, then the magician, the knife thrower, the young ticket inspectors, the tallest fire performer, and the other man he hadn’t recognized, who had stood quietly in the corner so far. An unexpected wave of excitement washed through his body, leaving it keyed up and buzzing once more.
“That’s seven votes,” said Kim Jonghyun. “It’s settled, then. I’ll assume everyone else is going to withhold, myself included.”
There were a few nods. Kim Jongin grinned at Sehun, and Sehun found himself smiling back.
“I suppose we should type up a contract,” said Kim Jonghyun. His expression wasn’t friendly, but he wasn’t frowning at Sehun like Choi Minho or the trapeze ladies either.
He ended up leading Sehun out of the tent and to a trailer close by, discussing the most important terms and conditions on the way. Then Sehun had to wait outside while Kim Jonghyun wrote out the contract on a typewriter. He spent this time calculating how long it would take until he had paid off his debts with his new salary; thanks to the fact that he wouldn’t have to worry about rent or groceries, he arrived at the surprisingly comforting number of three to four months.
When Kim Jonghyun returned, Sehun read through the contract. It was crude but adequate, and so he took the offered pen and signed without reconsidering.
“We’re leaving tomorrow at eleven AM, so please be there before that,” said Kim Jonghyun curtly as they parted ways.
“I will. Thank you.” Sehun bowed and turned to leave.
“One more thing,” called Kim Jonghyun, and Sehun looked at him. His expression was impossible to read in the dark, his voice equally unmoved as he spoke, “Do you believe in ghosts?”
Sehun only stared at him for a few moments. “No,” he eventually replied. “Why?”
Kim Jonghyun’s shoulders raised in a shrug. “I was just curious. See you tomorrow.”
With that, he turned around and sauntered back toward the smaller tent, from where agitated chatter and laughter could be heard.
Sehun shook his head. It seemed circus folk were quite strange.
The apartment door slammed shut behind Sehun. Although it was much warmer than outside, he shivered. A damp darkness was crawling up his back and encircled his neck, even when he had turned on the light. He sat on the sofa. The numb emptiness had been trickling back inside him continuously the more he had moved away from the circus. After the bombastic, glitzy world and the rush of new impressions, the quiet and loneliness of his apartment were deafening.
The clock said it was nearly midnight.
Was he insane? There was a chance he was, considering the events of the night. It all seemed like a fever dream. Then again, there had been nothing else. He tried to imagine how it would have been if he had returned here without doing what he had done, and his whole body shook with the dread that rose in his throat like bile. There it was again in front of him, the gaping void.
Sehun took a deep, shaky breath, rubbing his trembling hands over his face. Abruptly, he stood up.
There was no way he would be able to sleep now, and so he got to work. He reviewed the lease contract for his apartment, found the cardboard boxes he had used when moving in, and went through all of his belongings to decide what to take with him. Perhaps it was the detached state he was in, but most of them seemed meaningless. Even the TV, which had always been running, was now just a silent, clunky block sitting uselessly on its table.
He barely filled up one box and his old backpack with clothes, the most necessary toiletries, a few books, a clipboard, his address book, and all the paper and pens he had. His sofa, on the other hand, was cluttered with various items, ranging from vases to dress shirts to aftershaves, that he had chosen to leave behind.
Eventually, he collapsed amid the mess and fell into a restless sleep.