Paradigm

Chapter XXII

Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. March 1998.

Seonghwa had not been able to sleep all night. He had cried a lot. His eyes looked as disgusting as when he had conjunctivitis at age twelve. He really hoped a good shower would help. It was already eight o'clock sharp and he still had not had the courage to get up. In fact, he did not want to step outside again, just hole up in this hotel room for a few years. Do what he had always done : ignore his problems hoping they would go away.

It was a pathetic reaction from a pathetic individual, alright.

At this thought, he burst into tears again. A nasty migraine was lurking at the back of his skull. A knock on the door made him jolt in surprise.

"Mr. Park ? Are you there ?"

Seonghwa wanted to vanish from the face of the earth when he recognized the voice of the one he had spent the whole night cursing : Choi San. He buried his face in the pillow and groaned. Everything was going from bad to worse.

"Seonghwa ? Are you there ?" he repeated.

He could pretend he was not here. After all, San had slept in another room. They had not seen each other since the previous evening. And he was definitely the last person he wanted to see today.

"Seonghwa I know you're there, don't pretend ! Do you want to have breakfast together ? ... I also wanted to thank you for yesterday, I've had a wonderful day."

Oh no... The tears were flowing again ! The editor would come to believe that his tear glands were inexhaustible.

"Mr. Jung, go away ! I'm ill, leave me alone for today."

Unfortunately, the tremolos in his voice betrayed his sorrow.

"Are you unwell ? The rooms are rented in my name, I have the key to yours !"

"Leave me alone !" he snapped, his face scarlet.

He should not have. This outburst was out of character for him. This ultimately convinced San to come in.

The door clicked open after the author fumbled with the keys for a few seconds. Seonghwa was seriously considering burying himself alive. San walked over to his bed with a worried expression. As classy and cool as ever, while his own hair was shaggy and his eyes puffy.

The editor just wanted to change into a mouse to run away from the room. Actually, no : he wanted to change into a bacterium. Ugly, but invisible.

The writer realized that he was crying with surprise.

To be perfectly honest, consoling had never been San's strong suit. He did not know which gestures felt good, which were inappropriate... He sometimes regretted his lack of social skills. By dint of pondering the meaning of everything, he was losing the kind of natural reflexes he was so fond of admiring in others. He had become incapable of listening to his feelings and instincts, which he had buried too deep in order to gain access to the invulnerability he once coveted. He sometimes regretted being so calculating.

He therefore had to proceed by elimination to determine the best way to deal with a pained Seonghwa.

The young man quickly got rid of his polished shoes before lying down shyly against the Frenchman and hugging him for a long moment without asking any questions. The editor soothed away his anguish by burying his head in the welcoming neck of his travel companion (and the potential perpetrator of his future murder). San gently rubbed his back, praying the other man would not find it inappropriate. In fact, in his current psychological state, Seonghwa did not have the slightest idea of what was right and wrong anymore.