MLCD Chapter 4.4

First day.

Shavonne was sitting leaning against the wall, looking as haggard as someone who hadn’t slept for forty-eight nights. Is he sleeping? The closed eyelids didn’t move at all.

I hope he wakes up. If he wakes up, he’ll see me right away. Lewellyn sat huddled against the wall across from Shavonne, staring intently at the sleeping Shavonne. If I wake him up, I’ll get scolded, he thought to himself. Meanwhile, Lewellyn’s fingers were drawing circles on the floor. How will I get scolded? A lecture? If it’s just a lecture, that would be nice. Even if he swears at me, it doesn’t matter. If it’s from Shavonne, I’m willing to take even a beating.

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…But what if Shavonne punishes me by not coming here?

The moment this frightening possibility crossed his mind, the hand drawing the circle abruptly stopped. The thought of having to spend another night with Shavonne not coming made him feel as if his blood had dried up. Lewellyn turned pale. He shook his head vigorously, trying to chase away the ominous thought. That’s when he realized that the awakened Shavonne was looking at him.

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Lewellyn’s face flushed red. What should I say? Should I ask if he slept well? But it looked like Lewellyn’s presence kept him from sleeping well. Should I ask if he slept? Of course he must have slept. If he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have remained silent like this. He would have given Lewellyn an onion, handed him a workbook, or read a book to him.

What should I say? What should I say to make the dark shadows under Shavonne’s eyes disappear, his sunken cheeks plump up, and his tightly sealed lips relax? Hesitating, he opened his mouth.

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“Hey…”

Hey, Shavonne. If you didn’t know, I was hurt. If you didn’t know, it hurt so much that I couldn’t call you Shavonne, that you couldn’t call me Lewellyn. If you didn’t know… Lewellyn tried to continue, but couldn’t finish his words. Shavonne had closed his eyes again.

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“…”

If you didn’t know, the only name I want to call is Shavonne’s. The only name I can call is Shavonne’s. Only Shavonne… The words he couldn’t get out aloud kept circling in his throat.

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Shavonne still has his eyes closed. Lewellyn just stared at him. He had thought the most unyielding thing in the world was the iron door, but he was mistaken. It wasn’t the iron door. It was Shavonne’s closed eyelids.

When the time came, Shavonne left the room without saying a word. Only Shavonne’s shadow was left behind.

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Second day.

Shavonne leaned against the wall, eyes closed, clearly tired. It didn’t seem like he would speak or even look at Lewellyn today, just like yesterday. Lewellyn hesitated, then opened his mouth.

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“…Can I talk to you?”

As soon as he said it, he felt guilty. Just being able to see Shavonne was already a miracle, let alone trying to have a conversation. Lewellyn must really be the “impertinent dog” the guards talked about.

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“Do you have something to say?”

Shavonne answered with his eyes still closed, his voice cold. Lewellyn stared at Shavonne’s closed eyelids and asked.

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“…Can’t you look at me?”

Shavonne finally opened his eyes without a word. His dry gaze was directed at Lewellyn. The request was accepted, but Lewellyn wasn’t entirely happy about it. Shavonne’s eyes still made Lewellyn’s heart flutter, just like before… but back then, they used to sparkle, and now there was a deep shadow over them, too deep to see through.

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Maybe it’s because we’re too far apart, Lewellyn thought. There were seven steps between Shavonne and Lewellyn. If he could shorten that distance to one step, he could see the forty-eight nights Shavonne had spent.

“Can I come closer?”

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He asked. Shavonne just stared at him with a dry gaze, not answering. Lewellyn asked again.

“Can I?”

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Shavonne answered after a bit.

“You can.”

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His eyes were dark. There was no emotion in his voice.

“How could I say no to what you want.”

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Lewellyn sat down next to Shavonne. Shavonne briefly glanced at Lewellyn and closed his eyes again, as if he didn’t want to look at him.

It felt distant even though they were close. Lewellyn thought that perhaps it was still night, the forty-ninth night for Lewellyn.

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The third, fourth, and fifth days were the same. Shavonne didn’t try to look at Lewellyn. His closed eyelids were like scars. Old, faded white scars.

Lewellyn stayed by Shavonne’s side. He didn’t try to start conversations or demand Shavonne’s attention. He just quietly kept watch.

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On the sixth day, Lewellyn realized that Shavonne, who was sitting next to him, wasn’t actually sleeping, but just pretending to be tired. It hurt a little.

On the seventh day, Lewellyn asked if he could hold Shavonne’s hand. Shavonne said he could do whatever he wanted, that he didn’t need to ask permission.

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Lewellyn gently overlapped their hands. Shavonne’s hand didn’t even twitch. If there had been any dust, it would have reacted more than Shavonne did. It felt hot and painful. Even though the touch felt like it was searing hot, Lewellyn didn’t pull his hand away.

Would his lips hurt like his hand?

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Lewellyn kissed Shavonne’s lips three times. The first time he just pressed their lips together, the second time he nibbled on the lips, and the third time he sucked on the lips, biting and releasing. Lewellyn didn’t stop the kisses because the lips were hot and painful, just like his hand. He had no intention of stopping.

But when he pulled away, Lewellyn saw Shavonne’s face. Shavonne had no expression at all. His eyes were open, seemingly looking at Lewellyn, but actually staring at a point in empty space. The unfocused gaze proved it.

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If only he could, Lewellyn wanted to bite that empty space, demanding what right it had to receive Shavonne’s gaze. But he couldn’t. Lewellyn released Shavonne’s lips. He also let go of his hand.

Until it was time to leave the room, Shavonne remained silent, just as he had been. Lewellyn also kept silent, eyes downcast. His hand and lips stung like they were burned.

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On the fifteenth day, Lewellyn received an onion bundle from Shavonne. The day before, Lewellyn had said he wanted an onion bundle, and that’s why Shavonne gave it to him. Shavonne’s face remained impassive as he fulfilled Lewellyn’s request.

Sitting next to Shavonne, Lewellyn diligently peeled the onions, reporting on his progress.

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“I peeled one.”

“…,”

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“I peeled two.”

“…,”

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“I peeled three.”

“…”

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Shavonne didn’t react. Lewellyn didn’t mind and continued reporting. With his eyes reddened and frowning, he said, “My eyes are stinging.”

“…”

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Shavonne still didn’t respond.

Squinting his eyes at the onion peels, Lewellyn said, “The peels are annoying.”

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“…”

Shavonne remained silent.

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Holding up a peeled onion in front of Shavonne’s face and remarking excitedly, “Look at this, it looks just like your cheek!” and then adding, “…It may look similar, but your cheek is way softer than an onion,”

Shavonne still didn’t react.

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That day, Lewellyn peeled a total of ten onions. He handed nine to Shavonne, keeping one for himself. Shavonne just carelessly stuffed the onions into the bundle without even looking at them, crushing the smooth onions.

***

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No matter what Lewellyn did, Shavonne showed no reaction. Whether he accidentally broke an onion or tore a towel, or wrote “year” as “yeer”, Shavonne kept his eyes closed. Even when he opened his eyes, he just blankly stared at a point in the empty space.

Yet Lewellyn didn’t give up. Just as Shavonne had once done to Lewellyn’s silence.

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― Tell me if it hurts.

― …

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― Oh right, you don’t speak. If it hurts, nod your head. Or shake it. Okay?

― …

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― It’s not cleaning you well.

― …

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― It must have dried up. If I had known this, I would have brought it soaked in warm water.

Lewellyn spoke like a human, not a dog. Speaking like a human meant speaking like Shavonne. For Lewellyn, there was only a ‘human’ in this world, Shavonne.

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“Shavonne doesn’t need to be hurt.”

Lewellyn spoke like Shavonne.

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***

Night fell.

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Thoughts of Shavonne came to mind as he was alone. Did he finish the onions? Did he use the towel? Did he notice that Lewellyn wrote “year” as “yeer”? Trivial thoughts, but Lewellyn couldn’t shake off his desire to see Shavonne. His mind was consumed by Shavonne.

When Lewellyn came to his senses, he had already spread out a notebook on the floor and was bent over it. Holding a pen between his index finger and thumb, supporting it with his middle finger, he began to draw the face he longed to see.

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O:)

Then he remembered Shavonne’s expressionless face. Lewellyn hesitated, then modified the face shape.

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O:I

He stared at it silently. Then he added a tail to the I, making it a )

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O:)

But that smiling Shavonne existed nowhere in the world, except on this notebook page.

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Nowhere.

***

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Lewellyn liked it when Shavonne spoke. It didn’t matter what he said. What mattered was that his lips were moving. When his lips were closed, Shavonne’s face was O:I, but when his lips opened and moved, it was closer to O:).

“Talk to me.”

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Sitting with his knees hugged, Lewellyn looked at Shavonne with wide eyes and asked. Shavonne did as requested and a toneless voice emerged from his lips.

“Mn.”

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…The time his lips moved was too short. If he was lucky, Shavonne’s lips might form a 🙂 shape. Lewellyn couldn’t give up, and asked again.

“Say it again.”

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“Mn.”

“Say it again.”

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“…Mn.”

“Say it again.”

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Instead of saying “Mn,” Shavonne raised one eyebrow. Lewellyn thought, so he can raise just one eyebrow. How fascinating. I wonder if everyone can do that. Lewellyn tried to imitate it, but failed repeatedly. Both of his eyebrows would raise instead, and his brow would just furrow in frustration.

Lewellyn soon realized that Shavonne was watching him. His face flushed red. Unknowingly, he had made it blatantly clear that he was not quite human. He was embarrassed

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Just then, Lewellyn noticed Shavonne’s lips pressed into a straight line, forming an O:I. The sight of Shavonne’s closed lips caught his eye.

“Talk to me.”

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He requested. But this time, the response that came back wasn’t a word, but a question.

“What do you want me to say?”

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The voice was low. Lewellyn couldn’t answer immediately. What do I want him to say? What should I ask him to say? If he just moves his lips into a ‘:)’, it doesn’t matter what he says.

While Lewellyn hesitated, Shavonne pressed for an answer, his voice still low.

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“What do you want me to say?”

Is he angry? If he gets angry, Shavonne might not come here anymore. Lewellyn cautiously observed Shavonne’s expression. Hesitantly, he replied.

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“Anything…”

“You decide. I have nothing to say.”

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Cold words came out.

After Shavonne finished speaking, his lips formed the shape of :I as he closed his mouth. Lewellyn hurriedly started talking. He didn’t even have time to think about Shavonne’s words.

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“Read 《The Steadfast Tan Soldier》 for me.”

It was more of an improvised response than a quick-witted one. Or rather, it was closer to simply blurting out words at random. But regardless of the nature, if one only looked at the result, it wasn’t necessarily bad as Shavonne would bring the book and ceaselessly move his lips from the moment he opened it to the moment he closed it.

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“《The Steadfast Tin Soldier》”

Shavonne read the title. Lewellyn belatedly realized that he had just mispronounced ‘tin’ as ‘tan’. Shavonne hadn’t corrected his mispronunciation. Even though he hadn’t been punished, the inside of his ribs, or more precisely, the area underneath, was throbbing. It felt as if they had been ripped out.

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“‘There were once five and twenty tin soldiers. They were brothers, for they had all been made out of the same old tin spoon. Each was exactly like the rest to a hair, except one who had but one leg. He had been cast last of all, and there had not been quite enough tin to finish him.

On the table where the tin soldiers had been set up were several other toys, but the one that

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attracted most attention was a pretty little paper castle. All this was very pretty, but prettiest of all was a little lady who stood at the castle’s open door. The little lady stretched out both her arms, for she was a dancer, and then she lifted one leg so high that the Soldier quite lost sight of it. He thought that, like himself, she had but one leg.

“That would be just the wife for me,” thought he, “if she were not too grand. But she lives in a castle, while I have only a box, and there are five and twenty of us in that. It would be no place for a lady. Still, I must try to make her acquaintance.”

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When the evening came all the other tin soldiers were put away in their box, and the people in the house went to bed. Now the playthings began to play in their turn. They visited, fought

battles, and gave balls.

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The only ones who did not move from their places were the Tin Soldier and the Lady Dancer. She stood on tiptoe with outstretched arms, and he was just as persevering on his one leg; he never once turned away his eyes from her.

Twelve o’clock struck—’”

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Thud. The voice reciting the story abruptly cut off.

“The end.”

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Shavonne closed the book with a thud. Lewellyn looked up at Shavonne blankly. It felt strange that it was over so suddenly. The one-legged soldier had only ‘loved’ her, so it couldn’t end like this.

Shavonne checked his wristwatch, then gathered his things and stood up. Only then did Lewellyn come to his senses. He hurriedly called out to Shavonne as he was about to leave the room.

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“Is that the end?”

Shavonne stopped.

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“…”

He was in front of the iron door. Shavonne turned to look at Lewellyn after a pause. His gaze was rough. He looked as if he would crumble if touched.

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“What about the one-legged soldier?”

What happened to the one-legged soldier who loved the dancer?

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“What about the dancer?”

What happened to the dancer who was loved?

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“What about love?”

What happened to the love between the one-legged soldier and the dancer?

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Shavonne just silently looked at Lewellyn. his eyes were red. Blood vessels were stretched across the whites of his eyes. He bit his lower lip gently, released it, bit it again, and spoke.

“That’s the end.”

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And then he left without hesitation, just as he had done ever since they met again.

Lewellyn picked up《The Steadfast Tan Soldier》that Shavonne hadn’t taken. He opened it and read haltingly. “T-There were twen, twenty-five tan, no, tin soldiers made out of the same old t-tin spoon…”

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Lewellyn practiced reading 《The Steadfast Tan Soldier》 aloud all night without sleeping, and so the next day, he greeted Shavonne with a pale complexion from staying up all night. Instead of greeting him with ‘Shavonne’, he said,

“That wasn’t the end.”

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And he began reading 《The Steadfast Tan Soldier》 aloud, or rather, reading it to Shavonne. His face flushed. Thinking that he was now the one doing it, not just receiving everything from him, made his heart flutter excitedly.

“‘…He saw the same children, the same toys were on the table, and there was the same fine castle with the pretty little dancer. That touched the soldier so deeply that he would have cried tin tears, only soldiers never cry.

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He looked at her, and she looked at him, and never a word was said.

Just as things were going so nicely for them, one of the little boys snatched up the tin soldier and threw him into the stove. The tin soldier stood there dressed in flames. He felt a terrible heat, but whether it came from the flames or from his love he didn’t know.

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He looked at the little lady, and she looked at him, and he felt himself melting. But still he stood steadfast, with his musket held trim on his shoulder.

Then the door blew open. A puff of wind struck the dancer. She flew like a sylph, straight into the fire with the soldier, blazed up in a flash, and was gone. The tin soldier melted, all in a lump. The next day, when a servant took up the ashes she found him in the shape of a little tin heart. But of the pretty dancer nothing was left except her spangle, and it was burned as black as a coal.’”

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After finishing reading, Lewellyn quickly sat down right in front of Shavonne, eager for praise. He wanted Shavonne to smile at him, to pat his head. Although his reading had a few stutters and wasn’t perfect, he had read the book on his own for the first time, so there was no reason for him not to be praised. Surely Shavonne will even start writing letters to me from now on, right? His heart pounded at the thought.

But Shavonne said nothing. He didn’t smile or pat Lewellyn’s head. Is it because it would be too uncomfortable for him to stretch his hand out and pat me? Thinking this, Lewellyn lowered his body to make it easier for Shavonne to reach his head. But Shavonne’s hand never came.

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Lewellyn hastily grabbed Shavonne’s hand on the floor and brought it to his own head, stroking it back and forth to mimic a head pat. But still, Shavonne didn’t touch him. Only then did Lewellyn cautiously look up to check Shavonne.

Shavonne was frozen. His bitten lips were pale.

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Is 《The Steadfast Tan Soldier》too boring? Lewellyn thought. As he let go of the hand, it fell limply to the floor, like a puppet with its string cut.

***

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Whenever Shavonne wasn’t there, the old Lewellyn would just stare blankly at the iron door, but the present Lewellyn buried himself in books, searching for ones more interesting than 《The Steadfast Tan Soldier》. As he slowly but steadily read through one book after another, he soon learned what common words appeared, such as author, publication, and table of contents. Those items were always written on the pages before the table of contents. After the table of contents, the common words were “”(double quotes), ‘’(single quotes), .(period), ,(comma), and the most frequent of all was ‘love’. It appeared in 《The Steadfast Tan Soldier》 《The Little Mermaid》, 《Alice in Wonderland》, and even in 《Forbidden》 the book Shavonne had once read to him.

― As he panted, he lifted her skirt. How could he! They didn’t share even a drop of blood, and yet he was her younger brother. Their strict father would never allow this relationship. Her hands trembled. But despite that fear, her body was soon soaked in his touch. I love you, he said, and then his lips touched hers.

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Pressing their lips together, Lewellyn was certain that the author of 《Forbidden》 had spied Shavonne and Lewellyn and copied them, as they had eaten each others lips too.

《Forbidden》 had seventeen scenes where the characters said “I love you” and then pressed their lips together. After finishing 《Forbidden》, Lewellyn thought, I need to say “I love you” before eating the lips.

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The day before Shavonne stopped coming flashed in his mind. Perhaps Lewellyn’s mistake that day wasn’t looking at the injured Shavonne, interrupting Shavonne’s cheerful words, or standing up with his hurt leg to approach him. Maybe it was not saying “I love you” before eating his lips.

When Shavonne came, Lewellyn stood up. Without any warning, he approached Shavonne as he gave him a sidelong glance, as if asking what was up with him, and ate his lips without warning. Sucking, licking, biting gently as the man in 《Forbidden》 had done, he said,

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“I love you.”

He ate his lips again, holding Shavonne’s both hands with his own, trying to feel a sense of connection. “I love you.”

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I love you, I love you…

But no matter how many times he called out, Shavonne remained frozen. He had no expression. His hands were motionless. They only grasped at the empty air, not clasping Lewellyn’s hands.

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However, for a single moment, so brief that no one could have noticed, Shavonne’s hands moved. They twitched ever so slightly, as if trying to reciprocate Lewellyn’s hold. But Lewellyn didn’t see it. The only thing Lewellyn could see was Shavonne’s hands, now still and unmoving.

These days, Lewellyn rarely parted from a book. Whenever Shavonne was gone, he would quickly plop down on the floor and open a book – be it a fairytale, a novel, or a book full of endless rambling. Just like Shavonne used to do, he would draw lines across the pages. Since he didn’t know where he was supposed to draw them, he underlined words starting with ‘s’ and circled words starting with ‘l’, and it looked somewhat convincing at a glance.

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What Lewellyn learned from books today was greetings. When meeting someone, you say things like ‘I’ve missed you’ or ‘Good morning/afternoon/evening.’ When parting, you say ‘I had a great time’ or ‘Have a good night/morning/afternoon/evening.’

Greetings often involve body gestures too – some people wave their hands, offering their hands (called ‘handshake’), or briefly touch cheeks. Between lovers, they might even briefly touch their lips. Between lovers. Llewellyn read that carefully.

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Lewellyn liked the idea of Shavonne waving to him, offering his hand, or briefly touching cheeks with him, but the thought of Shavonne briefly touching their lips together made his face blush the most. The more he imagined it, the redder his face became. That’s when a sudden thought popped up.

‘What about Shavonne?’

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A memory of Shavonne initiating a kiss flashed in his mind. A soft sensation, followed by a rough sensation, was still vivid in his memory. The soft part was the lips, and the rough part was the split wound, if he remembered correctly.

“…”

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Lewellyn found himself absentmindedly touching his own lips, as if trying to find that soft yet rough sensation he had felt that day.

We are lovers, he thought. Muttering it out loud, since merely thinking about it didn’t soothe his heated heart. “We are lovers.”

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Shavonne loves me, he thought. This time, he muttered it out loud , “Shavonne loves me.”

Saying it once more, he murmured.

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“Shavonne… loves me.”

His flustered heart was burning. If his heart had color (perhaps it did, but Lewellyn had never known since he was a dog), it would be bright red. Like a searing poker that strips the flesh and makes blisters, it would be fiery red.

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Does everyone feel this way when they’re loved? It was hot and painful. He felt like he was melting.

He lay on his side, eyes wide open.

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He couldn’t sleep. It was because: one, excitement; two, fear; three, guilt. To be loved, one must be worthy of love, but Lewellyn was not.

If Shavonne was born to not hurt, then Lewellyn was born to hurt. If Shavonne lived to be happy, then Lewellyn was a being living to be unhappy. If Shavonne was a being made to be loved, then Lewellyn was a being made to be hated.

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Can I be loved? Isn’t that too presumptuous? Shavonne’s love was generous. No, to be precise, Shavonne himself was generous. The onions, towels, typewriter, books, pens, notebooks, expressions, gestures, and voice that Shavonne offered were all excessive. But wouldn’t it be okay to be generous just this once? Can’t there be an exception just this once?

When it comes down to it, whether Shavonne loved him or not, Lewellyn could do nothing. How could Lewellyn tell Shavonne to love him? How could he tell Shavonne not to love him? It was impossible. It just didn’t make sense.

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Lewellyn ended his agonizing thoughts near the end of the night. His conclusion was that to be loved, one must be worthy of love.

Lewellyn is not worthy of love.

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However, he could still try to become worthy of love.

***

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It was clear. What Lewellyn had to become was a hurt dog, yet an outstanding one. If he wasn’t hurt, Shavonne wouldn’t even look at him, and if he wasn’t outstanding, he couldn’t become worthy of love.

Then what exactly made Lewellyn outstanding?

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“I’m really good at biting.”

He suddenly blurted out. Shavonne paused in setting down the bundle and looked at Lewellyn. His expression was ambiguous, as if he wasn’t sure if he had heard correctly.

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“And I’m really good at killing.”

Was that explanation enough? Lewellyn thought Shavonne might not fully grasp how skillfully Lewellyn could bite and kill, so he quickly elaborated.

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“With just a tool, I could kill a hundred people in no time. I can even do it with a name tag, or a pen, or a towel.”

After boasting about the specifics, Lewellyn had a sheepish grin. But Shavonne didn’t smile. Far from it, his face became hardened. Silently, he turned his head and began untying the bundle. His hand movements were harsh as he untied the knots. Seeing that stiff profile, Lewellyn’s face fell.

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‘I should have boasted about something else…’

But what else was there to boast about? Other than being good at biting and killing, he didn’t have much he was confident in. Of course, it wasn’t like he had nothing – he was confident in thinking about Shavonne, dreaming about Shavonne, holding Shavonne’s hand, or eating Shavonne’s lips.

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But he couldn’t bring those up in front of Shavonne. He had to be seen as worthy of love, and if not, he would be seen as an idiot who can’t do anything without Shavonne. That wasn’t very far off, but anyway.

It was only after thinking about it all night that Lewellyn finally found another ‘outstanding quality.’

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“My hearing is really good.”

He cautiously began.

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“The iron door doesn’t let sound through well. So no matter how much I yell in here, it can’t be heard outside. And no matter how much they yell outside, it can’t be heard in here. That’s what the guards say.”

“…”

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“But not me.”

“…”

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“I can hear. I can hear the guards chatting and their footsteps.”

But Shavonne remained silent, just peeling the onions (which Lewellyn had asked him to do) without even sparing a glance. He had a poker face. He seemed like he wouldn’t even react if Lewellyn said his hearing was bad instead of good.

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Lewellyn suddenly grabbed Shavonne’s left arm and clung to it. Pleading for praise. “Aren’t I amazing? Aren’t I?”

Shavonne finally gave a lukewarm response. “Yeah, really amazing.” He continued peeling the onions with his unoccupied right arm.

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Lewellyn had never felt such resentment towards onions before. He wanted to snatch the onions Shavonne was peeling and throw them somewhere.

It was failure after failure. It was devastating, but he couldn’t give up on the effort to become worthy of love. After thinking about it all night again, Lewellyn found a new ‘outstanding quality.’

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“I’m really good at writing the alphabet.”

He held a blank sheet up in front of Shavonne’s eyes. Then he slowly wrote the lowercase letters from ‘a’ to ‘z’ on it.

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a, b, c, d, e, f, g, h, i, j, k, l, m, n, o, p, q, r, s, t, u, v, w, x, y, z…

Large, crooked letters filled the page. He flipped the paper over and slowly wrote the uppercase letters from ‘A’ to ‘Z’ on the back.

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A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, I, J, K, L, M, N, O, P, Q, R, S, T, U, V, W, X, Y, Z…

He put down the pen. “Perfect, right?” His voice was tinged with pride. When Shavonne just looked at the paper without responding, Lewellyn quietly added, “I didn’t even mix up a and e.” Of course, that was thanks to the secret note he had written on the back of his hand, ‘a is ei, e is i:’

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Lewellyn decided to conveniently ignore the truth. Whether he had looked or not, it was true that he didn’t mix up a and e, so there was no need to reveal what had happened behind the scenes.

That’s when it happened. Lewellyn unconsciously looked up at Shavonne’s face to see his reaction, and for a moment, his breathing stopped.

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It was a weak smile.

It was a weak smile, but undoubtedly a smile. A :). The first one he had seen after the forty-eight nights. It disappeared quickly, but the mere fact that the smile had existed could not be erased.

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His cramped universe started beating. It was love.

***

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He wrote a letter.

He thought it would look nice if he tied a red ribbon on the letter. He tried to tear off the red bookmark from a book to use as a ribbon, but then he realized he didn’t know how to tie a ribbon, so he tied it with a knot like the one used to strangle the neck. The letter was now crumpled like a tightened neck.

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Shavonne came. He had to hand over the letter he had hidden behind his back, but he felt embarrassed. He hesitated to take it out. If only Shavonne would ask, “What are you hiding?”, he would have mustered the courage to quickly hand it over, but unfortunately Shavonne didn’t ask.

Lewellyn kept fidgeting with the letter the whole time Shavonne was there. He found the courage just as Shavonne was about to leave. He hastily stuffed the letter into the bundle Shavonne was about to pick up. The red string was dangling out, so he forcefully pushed it in.

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“Read it when you’re outside. You must read it!”

Lewellyn urged him insistently. His neck was as red as his face. Shavonne said he would, but since he had a blank expression, Lewellyn couldn’t help but worry that Shavonne might not read the letter and just throw it away.

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The next day, Shavonne came. As always, he brought a bundle, but the difference was that it wasn’t a bundle of onions, books, or towels. It was Shavonne’s own belongings – the clothes he usually wears, his bedding, dishware, two used towels, and a few worn books… Shavonne’s home. Shavonne’s entire home had come to Lewellyn’s universe. A universe that was only eight steps wide and long.

Live with me

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That’s what was written in the letter. Shavonne agreed. Even if it was because he couldn’t refuse Lewellyn’s request.

Was Shavonne not happy?

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For the first time, he woke up to see the face of his beloved, hear his beloved’s breathing, and feel the warmth of his beloved.

If someone asked if it was a happy life, Lewellyn would say he didn’t know. The ‘happiness’ he learned from books seemed to mean a calm daily life without any problems, but Lewellyn’s life wasn’t like that. It was full of problems. Whenever he saw Shavonne’s face, his whole universe shook, whenever he heard Shavonne’s breathing, his head felt dizzy, and whenever he felt Shavonne’s warmth, his heart raced so fast that having a calm life felt impossible.

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Not only that, his body didn’t seem to be healthy either. First, his eyes. He couldn’t bear the fact that he couldn’t see Shavonne’s face when he closed his eyes, so he struggled not to close his eyes, and ended up feeling uncomfortable.

Second, his ears. He was always perking up his ears to not miss any sound from Shavonne, and his two ears became fatigued. Third, his heart. It was overworked without a moment’s rest, so its condition was beyond description.

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Shavonne was with Lewellyn. Except for just one time, when right before bedtime,

“I’ll go out and get some fresh air.”

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On that first night, as Shavonne said this and tried to leave the room, Lewellyn quickly got up from his seat and blocked the iron door with his whole body. Then, he shook his head towards Shavonne, who looked dumbfounded.

“No.” He squeezed out the word. “Don’t go meet wind.”

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Shavonne’s face turned weird.

“…Do you even know what wind is?”

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No, he didn’t.

“I don’t know.”

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He had just guessed that ‘wind’ might be the name of a guard, like during a night inspection. Whether he was right or wrong didn’t matter. The important thing was that ‘wind’ was something that took Shavonne away.

“You don’t know?”

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Shavonne’s voice hardened. If I say I don’t know, will it upset Shavonne? Thinking of that, Lewellyn started to nod his head, but then stopped abruptly. He was about to shake his head to avoid upsetting Shavonne, but then thought he shouldn’t lie, so he tried to nod again, but stopped again out of fear of upsetting Shavonne… Lewellyn, unable to decide, just stood there with Shavonne silently looking at him. His eyes had sunk and darkened.

That was when Shavonne let out a long sigh towards Lewellyn. The long sigh touched Lewellyn’s forehead. Lewellyn’s bangs swayed lightly and then stopped.

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“That’s it.”

Shavonne spoke, looking at the perplexed Lewellyn. His voice was even.

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“That’s what wind is.”

This? Lewellyn gently touched his forehead with his hand. Shavonne’s breath was lingering on the bangs that had swayed lightly.

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Ah, wind is Shavonne’s breath. Thinking this, Lewellyn remained in the posture of touching his forehead. That’s when Shavonne moved. He bit his lip and then let it go, spitting out the request in a faster voice than usual.

“If you understand, please move aside.”

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It meant he wanted to go out. Not knowing what to do, Lewellyn hesitated in his place. Shavonne wants to go. But Lewellyn doesn’t want Shavonne to go… As the hesitation dragged on, Shavonne finally lost his temper.

“Damn it. If you’re going to be like this, you should have said ‘I’ll lock you up here’ instead of asking me to live with you. Is it because you don’t know, or are you doing it on purpose…”

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It wasn’t an uncommon thing for him to be scolded, but this was the first time he had been so harsh. Lewellyn froze. He was scared. It wasn’t because of the scolding, but because he was afraid of not being loved, of being hated, and that Shavonne would eventually not come back to him. He felt like he was about to hiccup.

Seeing Lewellyn’s frightened face, Shavonne quickly stopped talking. “Lewellyn, I…” He opened his mouth, as if trying to explain. He seemed flustered, his gaze trembling.

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“…I’ll be back.”

The attempt at explanation ended up in a strange conclusion. Lewellyn still looked perplexed, staring at Shavonne. Shavonne was struggling to regain his composure as he continued with difficulty.

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“I’ll be back in the blink of an eye, so please move aside? If you’re blocking the door, I can’t go out.”

“…”

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“Do you understand?”

I’ll be back, I’ll be back in the blink of an eye. Lewellyn hesitantly stepped aside after those words. Shavonne immediately headed for the door. He didn’t even glance at the motionless Lewellyn as he passed by.

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The iron door opened and closed. Shavonne was gone. Beyond the door, the sound of Shavonne gagging, throwing up and then running off somewhere could be heard.

Shavonne didn’t return in the “blink of an eye”. It was when Lewellyn had counted up to thirty-two, after a hundred. Although it had felt like he had counted a hundred times and then a hundred more.

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Engulfed in the fear that Shavonne might not return, Lewellyn had become as pale as a ghost. As soon as Shavonne returned, he frantically ran and hugged him. Don’t be late, don’t be late. He clung to Shavonne’s clothes and begged like that. Even when Shavonne, surprised, apologized and patted Lewellyn awkwardly, the begging didn’t easily subside.

As a way to console Lewellyn, Shavonne handed him his own watch. He said that when the big hand points to 11, he will go out to get some fresh air. And he will return before the big hand reaches 12. He also said they would go to sleep then.

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“If Shavonne doesn’t come back, I can’t sleep.”

Lewellyn said. Shavonne seemed not to have heard him. Or perhaps he pretended not to have heard.

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That night, they slept separately. Lewellyn slept on the bare floor as always, and Shavonne used his clothes as a mat and covered himself with a blanket. The next day, Lewellyn crept into Shavonne’s blanket.

He thought he would be rejected. After the forty-eighth night, Shavonne had never once rejected Lewellyn, but still, using his blanket was another thing.

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But this time, too, Shavonne didn’t reject Lewellyn. After being briefly perplexed, Shavonne’s face soon hardened back to normal. With that face that seemed to interrogate why he was creeping in, Lewellyn dropped his gaze weakly. A feeble voice escaped from his mouth.

“It’s cold…”

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Of course, that was an excuse. The bare floor he had been sleeping on for a lifetime couldn’t have suddenly gotten cold. Lewellyn simply wanted to be with Shavonne, whether awake or asleep. Am I lying to him? Thinking this, a sense of guilt welled up. Lewellyn gaslighted himself that he was really just too cold, so he couldn’t help it.

There was no response. What if? Ominous thoughts engulfed Lewellyn’s mind. Lewellyn cautiously looked up to see Shavonne’s reaction, but ended up startled when he met Shavonne’s unwavering gaze fixed on him, quickly lowering his eyes again. His breathing was heavy.

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That’s when the sound of the blanket rustling came. Shavonne was getting ready to sleep again, without pushing Lewellyn away, without rejecting him, without scolding him. Tossing and turning, Shavonne lay down with his back to Lewellyn.

Lewellyn lay down looking at Shavonne’s back. Somehow, looking at his back was painful. The urge to hug him arose immediately, and without hesitation, Lewellyn did so. Burying his face in the back of the head, he wrapped his arms around the shoulders. It was warm. Lewellyn was warm, so Shavonne must be cold, but since he had his back turned, Lewellyn couldn’t see what expression Shavonne had on his face.

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It was that night. Lewellyn felt someone’s hand grasping and releasing his own hand. The touch was as soft as when they kissed. Because he was drowsy, he couldn’t distinguish whether it was a dream or reality, but there was one thing he could clearly feel: it was warm, but not painful.

― Lewellyn, I…

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He faintly heard a voice. But in such a drowsy state, he couldn’t hear what the rest of the words were.

The goodbye was sudden. But looking back, perhaps it hadn’t been sudden at all.

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Where did it all go wrong?

Shavonne had been acting strange.

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On some nights, he lay with his back turned to Lewellyn, and on other nights, he lay facing him. Some nights, he would throw off the blankets and tell him to sleep alone, and other nights, he would lift the blanket and gesture for him to come over.

Some nights, he seemed to be having a nightmare, twisting his face and muttering because of you, because of you…, and other nights, he seemed to be having a pleasant dream, with a peaceful expression. Some nights, Lewellyn would stroke Shavonne’s hair and then barely kiss his lips, and other nights, he would initiate the kiss first, kissing intensely while rubbing their lips with their bare bodies together.

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Some nights were cold, and other nights were warm. Even if it was cold yesterday, there was no guarantee it would be cold today. Even if it was warm today, there was no guarantee it would be warm tomorrow. Even just within the same day, it could be like that.

“Sing me a lullaby.”

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Shavonne suddenly spoke up while tossing and turning in bed. Lewellyn asked what a lullaby was. Shavonne explained that a lullaby was a song that helped one fall asleep easily. Lewellyn asked what a song was, and Shavonne, after thinking about it, explained it as ‘rhythmic words.’ Still not quite certain, he asked, “Do you understand?”

Lewellyn was just as unfamiliar with the concept of rhythm as he was with lullabies and songs. He couldn’t really comprehend the explanation of ‘rhythmic words.’ Noticing that Lewellyn didn’t understand, Shavonne taught him some children’s songs like《

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Kous. Kous》 and 《Yellow, Yellow, Yellow Squirrel》, saying they were easy to follow along with.

But Lewellyn had no talent for singing. His attempts to sing 《Kous. Kous》 and 《Yellow, Yellow, Yellow Squirrel》 were quite clumsy.

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“You’re tone-deaf.”

Shavonne burst out in a clear laugh. Today was a warm day.

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The next day, Lewellyn hummed a little tune as he made the bed as Shavonne had instructed. That’s when it happened. Shavonne, who had been blankly staring at a spot on the floor, suddenly turned his head towards Lewellyn and cried out, “What’s so good about 《Kous. Kous》?” Lewellyn stopped humming. Clutching the edge of the blanket, he looked at Shavonne. A cold shadow had fallen over Shavonne’s face. Today was a cold day.

Shavonne looked very thin. His appearance was so emaciated that it seemed as though his skin clung directly to his bones. Staring at his frail form, a smell could be sensed from somewhere. It was the scent of something rotting inside. That wasn’t a problem, Lewellyn loved Shavonne and Shavonne loved Lewellyn, so why was Shavonne rotting inside?

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Shavonne was strange. Perhaps “strange” wasn’t the right word; “skeletal” might be more fitting. Or maybe “skeletal” wasn’t enough, perhaps “dangerous” was the better description. But then again, maybe “unstable” was more accurate. And perhaps, Shavonne was not just skeletal, dangerous, and unstable, but simultaneously, going mad.

Shavonne was gradually going mad.

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Was it from there that things started to go wrong?

***

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He felt a gaze and looked up to see Shavonne staring intently at him.

“Shavonne?”

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Lewellyn tilted his head, “Is there something on my face?” He touched around his face, but there was nothing. Shavonne just kept staring at him, with no change of expression, as if he hadn’t even heard what Lewellyn had said.

That’s when it happened. Something glistened in Shavonne’s eyes – transparent blood. Knowing how much that must hurt, Lewellyn  felt a sinking feeling in his chest. Shavonne can’t be in pain, he can’t be… His mind went blank. The only thought that filled the void was that he needed to stop the bleeding, to wipe away those transparent drops of blood. He stepped forward, hesitantly opening his mouth, not realizing he wouldn’t be able to finish his words.

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“Sha-Shavonne, blood…”

Drip.

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Transparent blood dropped to the floor.

Lewellyn looked at Shavonne. There was no change in his expression whatsoever. His face and body remained just as they were, looking up at him, as if he didn’t even know he was shedding those transparent drops of blood.

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Things that swing between the extremes of cold and hot hurt everyone, but the most hurt is the thing itself. Endlessly oscillating between the cold and the heat, it ultimately loses its original form. Shavonne was like that.

“…”

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Shavonne’s cheeks were drenched in transparent blood. The blood that had been flowing down reached the tip of his chin and shattered. Plop, plop. The sound of the blood falling to the floor broke the silence.

Lewellyn couldn’t do anything.

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Was it from there that things started to go wrong?

***

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“I want to become Shavonne.”

Lewellyn said. Shavonne paused in the middle of spreading out the blanket. He silently looked at him. His Adam’s apple was visibly bobbing as he swallowed his words.

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“I want to become Shavonne. I want to speak like Shavonne, think like Shavonne, move like Shavonne. I want to wear a hat like Shavonne. I want to wear a uniform like Shavonne. I want to wear shoes like Shavonne. I want to have black hair and green eyes like Shavonne. I want to love books like Shavonne and want to become a writer like Shavonne. I want to be like Shavonne…”

Shavonne cut him off.

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“You want to become me?”

Some indescribable emotion rippled across Shavonne’s face. Was it contempt, revulsion, anger? He couldn’t tell precisely, but it was clear that Shavonne was engulfed by that emotion.

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“Mn.”

Lewellyn nodded.

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“…”

Shavonne bit and released his lips. He forced the words out.

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“Even though I have no family?”

Lewellyn blinked. Shavonne had said he had a family of thirty-five people.

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But that thought was fleeting. Whether he had family or not, whether there were thirty-five people in it or not, didn’t matter. Lewellyn unhesitatingly nodded again.

“Mn.”

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“And no friends?”

Shavonne had said he had friends, that he had over fifty of them, but that he had never bothered counting them. But that too didn’t matter. Again, Lewellyn nodded without hesitation.

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“Mn.”

Shavonne’s face contorted. In Lewellyn’s eyes, it looked like a pained expression.

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“It’s not just that I have no friends or family. I have no money either. I ended up working here because I had to, to avoid freezing to death on the streets. It wasn’t out of a sense of mission or adventurousness. I just… had no money.”

Lewellyn didn’t say anything. He just kept looking at Shavonne. Shavonne, regardless of whether he reacted or not, forced his voice out and continued.

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“I’m uneducated. I don’t have any special talents. I’m not handsome enough to make a living with my face, not smart enough to avoid being exploited, and not skilled enough to be just a regular person. I’m just…”

Shavonne lowered his head. His voice seeped out in a pained tone.

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“…nothing.”

Neither was Llewellyn. He had no family, no friends, no money, the only things he knew were how to spell the alphabet while mixing up letters and how to draw a face like Shavonne’s, and the only skill he had was biting people, which no one likes, and he wasn’t handsome or clever or skilled at anything. Lewellyn had nothing either, except for having Shavonne by his side.

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Lewellyn spoke again, without elaborating further.

“I want to become Shavonne.”

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Was it from there that things started to go wrong?

Just where?

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***

One night, around 2 AM, Lewellyn stirred awake. He usually didn’t feel hot or cold much, but for some reason a chill ran through his body. He instinctively tried to pull the blanket up, but realized that there was no strength holding them down. Lewellyn quickly opened his eyes and checked the spot next to him.

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Gone.

Shavonne’s spot was empty.

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A chilling sensation brushed past the back of Lewellyn’s neck. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his wristwatch. The large hand pointed to 2. Two in the morning. Shavonne usually went out for fresh air when the hand was between 11 and 12, so this wasn’t a time when Shavonne should be gone.

The watch trembled. More precisely, the hand clutching the watch shook violently. The color drained from Lewellyn’s face. Shavonne… Shavonne’s gone. He disappeared. What should I do? What if it repeats for forty-eight nights? What should I do…? Cold sweat poured down his ghostly pale face.

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Then it happened. A soft breeze, accompanied by a hissing sound, blew gently against Lewellyn’s face. Perhaps because he was already drenched in cold sweat, the breeze felt so cold that it sent a chill down his spine.

The wind was coming from the doorway. Apparently, Shavonne had forgotten to properly close the door on his way out. Through the half-open crack, just a handspan wide, nothing was visible. Only pure darkness.

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A black universe.

Beyond the iron door, an unknown black universe stretched out before Lewellyn.

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An instinctive fear rose and fell in his throat. It was an unknown place. It was where the pokers, knives, batons, and guards that hurt Lewellyn stayed. He wasn’t curious and had never been curious about it. He didn’t want to go. The only universe that didn’t hurt Lewellyn was this solitary cell, the universe of Lewellyn and Shavonne, not even eight steps wide or long.

But…

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Again, the wind leaked through the crack in the door. The cold air touched his forehead. The bangs stuck to his forehead with cold sweat swayed almost imperceptibly and then stopped.

He remembered Shavonne teaching him what wind was. Shavonne’s face, blowing out a long breath with a whoosh sound, flickered before his eyes. The voice saying, ‘That’s it. That’s what wind is,’ echoed in his ears.

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Wind.

Shavonne’s breath.

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Shavonne’s breath was coming in through the crack in the door.

He staggered to his feet. One step, two steps towards the iron door, he took trembling steps. It wasn’t that he wasn’t scared. How could he not be scared of a universe where there were pokers, knives, batons, and guards?

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But he had to go. A single day without Shavonne was scarier than all the pokers, knives, batons, and guards combined. He didn’t care if Pharrell got angry. He didn’t care if the vice warden broke his limbs and muzzled him. He had to find Shavonne.

He stopped in front of the iron door. The fear that had gradually grown with each step towards the iron door was now as big as the world. Lewellyn grasped the door handle. Before opening it wide, Lewellyn closed his eyes tightly and prayed. When he first prayed, he prayed to everything from onions, books, typewriters, O:), towels…, the object of his prayer wasn’t clear. But not now. Now Lewellyn knew what he should pray to. He knew who his god was.

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“Shavonne.”

That name alone was enough.

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He flung it open. The black universe poured in.

***

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The black universe was vast.

He thought it would be a room no more than thirty steps wide and long, but it wasn’t. It wasn’t a room, and it seemed like even if he walked thirty steps a hundred times, and that a hundred times, and that another hundred times, he wouldn’t see the end.

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The world was dark as if scorched by fire. The sound of rain could be heard. The sound of rain, similar to the sound of transparent blood falling, drop by drop, permeated the surroundings. Through the glass windows, thin, sparse streaks of rain were scattered hazily.

He had heard this was a detention center. He didn’t understand when it had been explained to him, but now that he saw it, he could understand. The detention center was a massive stone building. Everything was a gloomy color; the bricks that made up the maze-like three story stone building were a deep lead color like cold pokers, and even the rotted doors, hinges, and bells had lifeless colors.

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He wasn’t sure if he could find Shavonne, but he decided to look anyway. He opened every door he saw. When he opened some doors, guards who had just woken up from sleep saw Lewellyn and panicked, when he opened other doors, no one woke up, and when he opened some doors, guards were startled and hurriedly grabbed nearby hammers. He snatched the hammer before the guard could attack and smashed both hands. The guard screamed. Lewellyn choked him, asking where Shavonne was. The guard passed out.

From somewhere, a voice shouted, “It’s the dog! The dog is out!” Another voice followed, “Don’t kill it!” Lewellyn paid no attention and continued to search for Shavonne. Before he knew it, his view was filled with guards. One guard who tried to strike him with a baton was subdued and fell. Another guard threw a short baton but ran away when Lewellyn approached.

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The short baton that hit his leg fell to the floor. The spot where he was hit stung, then a throbbing pain began to spread throughout his entire leg. Lewellyn staggered but didn’t fall. He couldn’t fall when he hadn’t even found Shavonne yet.

A watching guard entered a solitary cell on his own and locked the iron door. Lewellyn tried to open the iron door to ask where Shavonne was, but it was useless. He didn’t have the key. Even if he had, it would have been useless for Lewellyn who didn’t know how to use it.

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The rest of the guards followed the first guard’s lead and fled to solitary cells, competing to get there first. When he came to his senses, there were no guards left in front of him. Except for one.

It was Shavonne.

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Shavonne was there.

“…Shavonne.”

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He called. But Shavonne didn’t answer. Is it too far for him to hear me? Lewellyn approached. He wanted to run, but because of his numb leg that had been hit by the short baton, he could only walk with a limp.

“Shavonne.”

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They stood face to face.

“I found you.”

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Shavonne didn’t answer. He just looked at Lewellyn with dark eyes. Lewellyn, not noticing, continued speaking.

“Let’s go back to our home.”

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Our home. The home where both Lewellyn and Shavonne live. Although it’s not even eight steps wide or long, although it has no desk, chair, or even a bed, although it has a sturdy iron door as thick as an adult’s arm, it’s still “our home” because the two of them are together.

A cold reply fell.

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“Why should I?”

He said politely¹. As if denying all the time they had spent speaking informally until now, he was being polite. Lewellyn flinched but simply thought that Shavonne must be having a cold day. Since Shavonne usually alternated between cold days and warm days, he thought it could happen.

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“I like Shavonne.”

Shavonne likes me too.

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“I love Shavonne.”

Shavonne loves me too.

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Lewellyn thought that was enough reason to go back home. It was only in the next moment that he realized he had been mistaken. In a way that was far too painful.

“Are you out of your mind?”

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Shavonne’s voice jumps up. His eyes are glittering with contempt. Thinking he might have seen wrong, he looked at him again, but it was clear. It was contempt.

Lewellyn held his breath.

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“You like me? You love me? Why, why don’t you go out of here and live with me? In a red brick house, with a fireplace, and we’ll even get a dog. What should we name the dog? Happy? Or Clover?”

But Shavonne loves Lewellyn. He loves him… How could he do this? Lewellyn couldn’t do that. Unless he had never loved at all, he couldn’t…

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The thought stops.

Somewhere, the black universe is churning. It envelops Lewellyn as if wanting to drive out an unwelcome guest.

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“Shavonne.”

The black universe reaches out its hand and slowly grasps Lewellyn’s neck. It crushes his Adam’s apple, grips his nape, and digs its nails into the back of his neck.

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“Have you ever loved me?”

The hand of the black universe is hot. It’s hot but not painful. However, just because it’s not painful doesn’t mean it isn’t harmful. Just because it’s not painful doesn’t mean it doesn’t kill. Just because it’s not painful doesn’t mean it loves him.

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Why hadn’t he realized that?

“Never.”

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He added.

“Not even once.”

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The sound of rain was loud. The black universe swallowed Lewellyn.

Nothing was wrong.

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The only thing that was wrong was Lewellyn alone.