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Keep It Together____________________________

We barely find a place. Or maybe it's our minds, flickering in and out like weak signals, making it harder to know where we're going. Sohee wanders outside the building, her legs shuffling aimlessly, but she never stumbles. She doesn't respond when I call her name—and that's fine. Neither of us feels fully here.

Where she leads, I follow, a shadow to her silence.

Eventually, we come across a wooden bench. It's as good a place as any.

Sohee sinks onto it.

I stand for a moment, looking up at the overcast sky, wondering if my sneakers will get soaked when the rain starts. But my legs grow tired, and I sit down beside her. The tiredness in my muscles tells me it's time to stop pretending I can stand any longer.

The wind whispers, carrying a scent of salt and something ancient, maybe from the sea or some tragic novel like *Moby Dick*. The bench creaks, and I get the feeling something out of place is lurking beneath this moment, but I force myself to speak anyway. "You okay, Sohee?"

The words sting. They taste bitter, hollow. *Are you okay?* is something I say out of habit, not meaning. It's the verbal equivalent of offering an empty hand. She's alive, isn't she? That should be enough. But we both know those words are just a filler for when I don't know what else to say.

Sohee wipes her tears with her sleeve, then frowns at the wet patch on her uniform. I bet she regrets it; she probably likes her uniform too much to ruin it with tears. She glances around, realizing her bag isn't with her. Must've left it back at Mei's door. Inside it would be a handkerchief, some small relief for her tears.

I could've reminded her. Helped her with it. But, well, priorities. A crying girl will always trump a forgotten bag.

"My arm's fine. Don't worry, Sunbae." She says it after a while, her voice thin but steady.

I nod, even though that's not what I meant. "I'm asking about *you*."

Her throat bobs as she swallows, the words catching somewhere in between. "Me?" Her gaze drops to the ground, avoiding mine. We both stare at the dirt. I half-expect her to start talking to the grass. It looks soft, almost inviting—like something that could one day cover our graves. Not a bad thought, being part of the earth again.

"I'm fine," she whispers, "I can handle this. Mei is just..." She trails off, her fingers nervously scratching at the fabric of her skirt. "She's just different. I know that. That's why I'm worried about her, not me."

"She wasn't exactly in a good mood." I shrug.

Sohee goes still, blinking as if she's forgotten how to. Her chest tightens, her voice faltering as she presses on. "I think... I made things worse. It's my fault." 

Her words hang heavy in the air, the weight of her guilt suffocating the space between us. Sohee and Mei—they've been close for so long. And then I showed up. One friend who wants to be closer, another who can't stand the sight of me. If there's blame to assign, it shouldn't rest on either of them.

"If you're talking about bringing me to her door, then it's my fault. I'm the one who exists, after all." I smirk, though it's half-hearted. "Blame God."

Sohee's eyes meet mine, filled with the soft, wounded light of someone still searching for an answer. "But Sunbae didn't do anything."

Exactly. I didn't. Doing nothing is the easiest thing in the world for me. But simply being here? That's already more than enough to screw things up. My presence alone causes friction. It's not like I asked for this life—if you can call it that. An eternal errand, ungodly in every way. 

Sohee shakes her head, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. "That's not really something you can be blamed for."

"Oh, but Carrie would beg to differ." I can practically hear her biting remarks.

Sohee's lips curve into a soft smile, her mood lifting just slightly. "Carrie doesn't know what she's talking about." 

Her voice, for a moment, feels warm again. I managed to pull her away from the sadness, even if it's just for a moment.

"Tell me about it," I say.

The breeze picks up, carrying our silence with it. There's a lot Sohee isn't saying, words she's not ready to release. Maybe the wind will bring them back someday. Or maybe not. 

"Thank you, Sunbae." She leans forward, her expression softening. "For trying to cheer me up."

I don't respond. It's not like I did much. She sees right through me, though. "But it's not me you should worry about. I told you—I'm fine. But Mei isn't. You saw her, didn't you?"

The image of Mei comes back to me: her pale, fragile form trembling behind the door, her eyes burning red. "She's angry with you," I mutter.

Sohee bites her lip. "I think I hurt her."

"I thought she was scared."

"No..." Sohee shakes her head slowly, pain etched into her face. "That's the thing. She's not scared. She's angry because I thought she'd be okay with it. That she was strong enough." Her voice wavers as she lowers her eyes. "But she's not."

Her words falter, and I know she's holding back something bigger.

"It's all right," I say, trying to give her a way out. "I'll find out from Mei. That's how it should be."

Sohee looks up at me, her expression soft, almost pleading. "All I can say is... Mei felt betrayed. Maybe by me, maybe... by both of us."

Betrayal? The thought of a love triangle flickers through my mind, but I quickly push it away. Mei's androphobia makes it impossible. Or does it? I'm not one to believe in much, least of all people's stories about themselves.

Sohee's voice breaks through my thoughts. "Sunbae? You're thinking in the wrong way again, aren't you?"

"You don't need to explain." 

But she does anyway. "Mei... Mei thinks I brought you to hurt her. I should've warned her. I shouldn't have let my excitement get the better of me. I was just so happy when I found out you lived here."

Her cheeks flush red again as she glances at me, a fleeting, shy smile hidden beneath the weight of it all.

Sohee is adorable as hell.